THE  MAID  OF  THE  FOREST 


THE    MAID    OF    THE    FOREST. 


Frontispiece. 


THE  MAID 
OF  THE  FOREST 


A  ROMANCE  OF  ST.  GLAIR'S  DEFEAT 


By  RANDALL  PARRISH 

Author  of  "  My  Lady  of  the  North,"  "  My  Lady  of  the 

South,"  "  When   Wilderness   Was  King," 

M  My  Lady  Of  Doubt,"  Etc. 


With  Four  Illustrations  in  Colors  . 
By  FRANK  E.  SCHOONOVER 


A.  L  BURT  COMPANY,  PUBLISHERS 

114-120  East  Twenty-third  Street      -        -       New  York 

PUBLISHED  BY  ARRANGEMENT  WITH  A.  C.  McCLURG  &  Co. 


Copyright 
A.  C.  McCLURG  &  CO. 

1913 


Published  September,  1913 
Copyrighted  in  Grtat  Britain 


SRLF 
URL 

5140073 
CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  A  MESSENGER  FROM  THE  NORTH   .          1 

II  AT    THE    FORT    GATES       .       .       .       11 

III  WITH    GENERAL    HARMAR       .       .       21 

IV  A  GIRL  OF  THE  NORTH       ...       SI 
V  A    PERILOUS    VENTURE       ...       41 

VI  '  THE    EVE    OF    DEPARTURE       .       .       51 

VII  I  FACE  A  REQUEST       ....       61 

VIII  UP       THE       MUSKINGUM          ...          71 

IX  THE    INDIAN    COUNTRY       ...       81 

X  THE  TRAIL  OF  A  WAR  PARTY       .       89 

XI  THE  LONELY  CABIN      ....       99 

XII  CAPTAIN  D'AUVRAY      .       .       .       .109 

XIII  I  TAKE  A  PRISONER       .       .       .       .119 

XIV  MADEMOISELLE  MEETS  HER  FATHER     129 
XV  MADEMOISELLE'S  STORY      .       .       .     139 

XVT  THE  RETURN  OF  BRADY       .       .       .     151 

XVII  THE  BARRIER  BETWEEN  .  .  .  161 

XVIII  WE  REGAIN  THE  HOUSE  .  .  .  178 

XIX  I  FIGHT  A  RED-COAT  .  .  .185 

XX  WE  MEET  THEM  WITH  RIFLES  .  195 

XXI  WITHIN  THE  CABIN       ....     207 

XXII  THE  FIGHT  IN  THE  CABIN       .       .     217 

XXIII  THE   HELP   OF   MADEMOISELLE             225 


Contents 

CHAPTER 

PAGE 

XXIV 

WITHIN  THE  TUNNEL 

.     235 

XXV 

A  STRUGGLE  UNDERGROUND 

.     245 

XXVI 

I  MEET  MY  DOUBLE 

.       255 

XXVII 

I  HOLD  A  PRISONER     . 

.     265 

XXVIII 

AN  EFFORT  TO  SAVE  BRADY     . 

.     277 

XXIX 

THE  FIRE  IN  THE  CLEARING 

.     289 

XXX 

THE  RECOGNITION 

.     301 

XXXI 

IN  THE  HANDS  OF  SAVAGES 

.     313 

XXXII 

THE  GHOST  OF  THE  LIEUTENANT 

.     323 

XXXIII 

THROUGH    THE    BLACK    NIGHT 

.     333 

XXXIV 

A  PRISONER  TO  THE  ALLIES 

.     345 

XXXV 

RENE   COMES       .... 

.       357 

XXXVI 

THE  ESCAPE    

.     369 

XXXVII 

IN  THE  WOODS       .... 

.     381 

XXXVIII 

BEFORE  ST.  CLAIR 

.     393 

XXXIX 

THE  BATTLE  ON  THE  WABASH 

.     409 

XL 

THE  RETREAT        .... 

419 

O  strange  New  World  that  yit  wast  ever  young, 

Whose  youth  from  thee  by  gripin'  need  was  wrung, 
Brown  foundlin'  o'  the  woods,  whose  baby  bed 

Was  prowled  'round  by  the  Injun's  cracklin'  tread, 
And  who  grew'st  strong  thru  shifts,  and  wants,  and 

pains, 

Nursed  by  stern  men  with  empires  in  their  brains. 

—  Lowell. 


The  Maid  of  the 
Forest 


CHAPTER  I 

A  MESSENGER  FROM  THE  NORTH 

T  STOOD  alone  on  the  banks  of  a  small  stream  gaz- 
ing  down  into  the  clear  water.  The  sun  revealed 
fish  in  the  depths,  and  their  curious  antics  held  me 
amused.  Mine  was  still  the  heart  of  youth,  in  spite  of 
those  experiences  of  war  through  which  I  had  passed  in 
the  struggle  of  the  colonies,  and  my  mind  could  not 
dwell  for  long  brooding  and  despondent.  It  was  a  re- 
lief, a  joy  to  be  there  alone,  my  memory  reverting  to 
the  Maryland  hills,  and  the  half-forgotten  days  when  I 
had  roamed  them  in  childhood. 

It  was  a  fair,  bright  morning.  Yet,  until  now,  I  had 
scarcely  realized  this,  picking  my  way  through  the 
grim  forest,  where  great  trees  almost  totally  obscured 
the  blue  arch  of  sky.  Then  I  had  suddenly  emerged 
into  open  space,  gorgeous  with  wild  flowers,  exhibiting 
a  prodigal  confusion  of  coloring,  and  found  myself  OB 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


the  bank  of  this  clear  run.  All  about  was  the  forest, 
the  trees  on  the  opposite  bank  dense  to  the  very  edge 
of  the  water,  a  vast  trackless  wilderness,  stretching 
almost  unbrokenly  to  the  great  lakes.  Still  held  by 
garrisons  of  English  troops  it  remained  a  dark,  gloomy 
expanse,  filled  with  mystery  and  death,  roamed  over  by 
savages,  and  scarcely  known  to  the  boldest  among  those 
few  settlers  scattered  along  the  Ohio.  In  the  heart  of 
the  tangled  thickets  this  little  oasis  appeared  a  spot 
of  rare  beauty,  with  deep  blue  overhead,  the  song  of 
birds  in  the  air,  and  the  clear  stream  of  running  water 
singing  its  song.  I  had  never  been  there  before  —  per- 
haps no  wandering  white  foot  had  ever  discovered  this 
hidden  waterway  —  yet  I  knew  the  stream,  and  where 
it  finally  found  passage  to  the  great  river.  It  should 
be  my  guide  southward,  away  from  the  gloom  of  the 
vast  woods,  and  their  dark,  haunting  shadows. 

I  still  stood  there,  leaning  on  my  long  rifle,  my 
thought  centering  upon  the  journey  homeward,  when 
the  bushes  opposite  parted,  and  a  man  stood  on  the 
bank  scarcely  a  dozen  steps  away,  with  only  the  stream 
between  us.  It  was  time  and  place  for  caution,  for 
suspicion  of  strangers,  and  my  rifle  came  forward  in 
instant  readiness,  my  heart  throbbing  with  startled  sur- 
prise. He  held  up  both  hands,  his  own  weapon  resting 
on  the  ground. 


"  Not  so  careless,  boy,"  he  called  across  cheerfully. 
"  There  is  no  war,  so  far  as  I  know,  between  white 
men." 

His  easy  tone,  as  well  as  his  words,  jarred  on  me,  yet 
I  lowered  the  rifle. 

"  I  am  no  boy,"  I  retorted,  "  as  you  may  discover 
before  we  are  through  our  acquaintance." 

"  No  ?  Well  by  my  eyesight  you  look  it,  although  in 
faith  you  are  surely  big  enough  for  a  grown  man.  I 
have  heard,  friend,  that  they  grow  giants  south  of  the 
Ohio,  and  now  I  believe  it  true.  Are  you  of  that  breed?  " 

"  That  is  neither  here  nor  there,"  I  said,  failing  to 
fall  into  his  humor.  *'  I  am  as  nature  ordained.  Your 
words  would  indicate  that  you  were  strange  to  this 
country  ?  " 

"  As  I  surely  am,  and  may  God  forgive  me  for  ever 
coming  here.  However  it  was  no  choice  of  mine,  but 
yours  is  the  first  white  face  I  've  seen  since  I  left  the 
Shawnee  towns  —  a  weary  journey." 

"  The  Shawnee  towns !  "  I  echoed,  staring  at  him  in 
fresh  wonderment.  "  You  come  from  beyond?  From 
the  Illinois?" 

He  stroked  his  beard. 

"  A  longer  journey  than  that  even,"  he  acknowledged 
slowly.  "  I  am  from  Sandusky,  by  way  of  Vincennes." 

"Alone?" 

[  3  ] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  The  Indians  who  were  with  me  remained  at  Shaw- 
nee;  they  lost  heart.  Since  then  I  have  been  by  my- 
self." 

I  stood  silent,  watchful,  aroused  to  the  importance  of 
this  meeting.  I  could  judge  little  as  to  the  appearance 
of  the  man,  for  he  remained  well  back  in  the  shadow, 
yet  he  was  not  of  large  build,  nor  of  an  aspect  to  alarm 
me. 

"  Come  over,"  I  said  shortly,  "  where  we  can  con- 
verse more  easily." 

He  stepped  into  the  cool  water  unhesitatingly,  and 
waded  across,  a  small  pack  at  his  back,  and  a  long 
rifle  across  his  shoulder.  There  was  a  reckless  audacity 
about  the  fellow  I  could  not  fail  to  observe,  and,  as  he 
scrambled  up  the  rather  steep  bank,  I  had  glimpse 
of  a  face  far  from  my  liking.  However,  ours  was  a 
rough  life  in  those  days,  accustoming  us  to  strange  ac- 
quaintances, so  I  waited,  my  rifle  in  my  hand,  deter- 
mined to  know  more  of  this  wanderer.  He  was  a  man 
of  middle  age,  with  gray  hairs  a  plenty,  and  scraggly 
beard,  an  active  body,  of  good  girth,  and  a  dark  face, 
deeply  seamed,  having  an  ugly  scar  adown  his  right 
cheek,  seemingly  from  its  white  center  the  slash  of  a 
knife.  The  eyes,  gleaming  beneath  the  brim  of  his  hat, 
were  furtive,  uncanny,  black  as  to  color,  and  bold 
enough  in  the  sneaking  way  of  a  tiger  cat.  Beyond 

[  4  ] 


A  Messenger  from  the  North 


these  things  there  was  little  distinctive  about  the  man, 
his  dress  merely  that  of  the  backwoods  —  fringed  hunt- 
ing shirt  and  leggings  of  leather,  dirty  and  soiled  by 
long  use,  yet  exhibiting  a  bit  of  foppery  in  decoration 
which  made  me  recall  the  French  voyageurs  of  the 
North  and  their  gay  ribbons.  At  his  belt  dangled 
hunting  knife  and  tomahawk,  but  these,  with  the  rifle, 
constituted  his  whole  display  of  weapons.  Even  be- 
fore he  had  obtained  the  level  on  which  I  stood  I  had 
conceived  a  dislike  for  the  fellow,  a  desire  to  have  done 
with  further  acquaintanceship.  With  feet  planted 
firmly  on  the  edge  of  the  grass  he  scanned  me  from  head 
to  foot  with  unwinking  eyes,  that  sought  vainly  to  smile. 

"  You  are  surely  a  big  fellow,"  he  said  at  last. 
"  Some  hand  at  rough  and  tumble,  I  make  bold  to 
guess."  His  roving  glance  took  in  the  dead  wild  turkey 
lying  at  my  feet.  "  A  hunter  —  hey  ?  " 

"  Occasionally,  for  what  I  require  as  food  —  and 
you?" 

He  chose  to  ignore  my  question,  apparently  not  yet 
ready  to  declare  himself,  turning  over  the  turkey  cock 
with  moccasined  foot. 

"  A  clean  shot,  friend,  and  a  fine  bird.  My  mouth 
waters  for  a  taste  of  it,  hot  from  the  fire.  You  are  a 
woodsman,  you  say?  " 

'*  I  did  not  say,"  I  answered  shortly,  feeling  no  en- 
[  5  ] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


j  oyment  of  his  probing,  "  but,  at  least,  I  am  not  lost 
in  them." 

"  Which  is  more  than  I  can  say,"  he  acknowledged 
frankly.  "  I  left  the  trace  for  a  short  cut  —  as  my 
mission  is  an  urgent  one  —  and  now  know  not  how  far 
the  river  may  be  away." 

"The  Ohio?" 

"  Ay,  the  Ohio.  Know  you  the  town  they  call  Mari- 
etta?" 

"  I  have  been  there.  It  is  forty  miles  to  the  south  of 
us.  You  seek  the  place?" 

"  There,  or  thereabouts.  Forty  miles,  you  say  ?  A 
goodly  journey  yet,  and  little  enough  at  the  end  of  the 
traveling.  A  log  house  or  two  amid  fields  of  blackened 
stumps,  a  few  psalm-singing  Puritans,  and  a  church  — 
is  that  the  picture,  friend?  " 

I  laughed,  but  rather  at  the  wry  look  on  his  face, 
than  at  the  words. 

"  Not  quite  so  bad,  yet  true  it  is  a  settlement  of  God- 
fearing New  Englanders,  not  much  to  your  taste  pos- 
sibly. Only  I  advise  you  to  hold  your  tongue  when 
once  you  get  there.  They  were  soldiers  the  most  of 
them  not  so  long  ago,  and  have  not  forgotten  the  trade. 
But  you  spoke  of  hunger  —  you  have  not  eaten?  " 

He  shook  his  head. 

*'  Nor  I :  we  will  try  the  taste  of  the  cock  together, 
[  6  ] 


A  Messenger  from  the  North 


if  we  may  venture  on  a  fire.  Know  you  if  there  be  any 
savages  in  these  woods  ?  " 

"  Not  a  one.    They  are  in  council  at  Vincennes." 

I  looked  at  him  suspiciously,  noting  again  the  pecul- 
iarity of  his  face,  its  dark  coloring  under  the  tan.  I 
might  just  as  well  get  at  the  gist  of  things. 

"  You  know  too  much,"  I  said,  "  about  those  mur- 
derers, not  to  be  one  of  them.  I  pick  you  as  a  half- 
breed.  Right,  am  I?  And  you  come  from  that  same 
council,  or  another,  with  some  word  to  those  settlers 
below?" 

"  There  is  not  a  drop  of  Indian  blood  in  my  veins, 
he  answered  coldly,  "  and  I  would  never  deny  it  if  there 
was,  for  I  have  found  them  more  to  my  liking  than 
those  of  my  own  race.  Come,  enough  of  this  play.  Let 
us  have  frankness  between  us.  I  come  from  the  North 
on  a  mission  of  peace,  the  representative  of  the  tribes, 
and  of  Hamilton.  There  is  no  reason  in  this  why  we 
should  quarrel.  You  are  a  bit  of  a  hot-head  I  take  it, 
but  I  am  too  old  a  borderer  to  take  heed  to  foolish 
words.  All  I  ask  is  fair  speech,  and  guidance  —  can 
you  deny  me  these?  " 

"  Not  if  you  talk  with  a  straight  tongue.  But  threats 
will  get  you  little  in  these  woods.  You  represent  Ham- 
ilton, you  say?  " 

"Ay,  though  I  expect  little  will  come  from  it.     I 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


would  have  word  with  St.  Clair  and  Harmar.    Know  you 
either  man  ?  " 

"  Both,  passing  well.  St.  Clair  is  up  the  river  —  or 
was  three  days  since  —  but  General  Harmar  represents 
him  at  the  settlement.  How  happens  it,  my  friend,  if 
the  message  be  so  important,  Hamilton  did  not  despatch 
an  officer?  " 

"  He  had  no  choice.  None  volunteered  for  the  task, 
and  I  was  the  selection  of  the  tribes.  You  question  me 
as  though  you  were  Harmar  himself;  and  more,  you 
have  the  look  of  it.  You  're  not  a  woodsman,  you  say ; 
then  I  make  a  guess  —  you  're  a  soldier." 

"  I  am,"  I  returned  quietly,  "  an  Ensign  in  the  regu- 
lar service." 

"Name?" 

"  Joseph  Hayward,  of  Fort  Harmar." 

"  The  gods  be  praised !  Now  is  the  way  made  clear. 
You  were  traveling  thither?  " 

"  I  am  to  be  there  tomorrow." 

"  In  ample  time  for  my  purpose.  'Tis  easily  seen  the 
devil  takes  care  of  his  own.  It  was  my  hope  to  encounter 
a  soldier,  rather  than  a  borderer,  who  might  have  preju- 
dice against  me.  I  recall  your  name,  Master  Hayward, 
as  spoken  by  the  Delawares.  You  were  at  Chillicothe 
last  Spring?  " 

"  I  attended  the  council." 
[  8  ] 


A  Messenger  from  the  North 


"  The  very  man,  and  now  you  can  serve  me  well,  if 
I  may  journey  with  you?  " 

I  had  an  increasing  dislike  for  the  fellow  and  his 
shifting  eyes  refused  to  meet  mine.  Yet  to  ignore  such 
a  request  might  invite  disaster.  If,  as  he  claimed,  he 
represented  the  tribes,  and  bore  the  credentials  of  Ham- 
ilton, the  message  might  well  be  an  important  one.  Its 
purport  was  for  others  to  judge,  yet  it  was  plainly 
enough  my  duty  to  give  him  safe  convoy.  Yet  my  aver- 
sion could  not  be  entirely  suppressed. 

"  I  am  not  overly  fond  of  white  men  who  turn  Indian," 
I  said  coldly.  "  However  I  '11  see  you  safe  to  the  fort 
gates  if  you  play  no  forest  tricks  on  the  way.  And 
now  you  might  tell  me  who  it  is  I  am  to  companion 
with." 

He  grinned,  showing  his  teeth,  and  my  eyes  noted  how 
firmly  he  held  his  gun. 

"  A  pledge  is  a  pledge,  Master  Hayward,"  he  an- 
swered, insolently.  "  I  am  called  Simon  Girty." 


[  9  1 


CHAPTER  II 

AT  THE  FORT  GATES 

T  INVOLUNTARILY  took  a  step  backward,  staring 
into  the  man's  face.  That  lie  was  a  renegade  of 
some  sort,  I  had  realized  from  the  first,  yet  it  had  never 
once  occurred  to  me  that  he  could  be  that  bloody  scoun- 
drel, Girty.  I  ought  to  have  recognized  him  at  the  first 
glance,  for  his  personal  appearance  had  been  described 
to  me  often  enough,  but  it  was  hard  to  conceive  that 
one  with  his  murderous  reputation  would  ever  dare  to 
venture  thus  openly  into  our  settlements.  Even  as  a 
messenger  from  Hamilton  he  faced  grave  danger  at  the 
hands  of  those  backwoodsmen  eager  to  avenge  innu- 
merable outrages.  No  wonder,  he  sought  protection, 
companionship  with  a  soldier,  in  his  daring  venture. 
Ay,  and  his  message  must  be  important  to  cause  him  to 
assume  so  desperate  a  mission  —  he  of  all  men  the  most 
hated  throughout  the  length  and  breadth  of  our  settle- 
ments. 

There  flashed  across  my  mind  the  stories  I  had  heard 
of  his  atrocities :  his  leadership  of  Indians  in  midnight 
forays;  his  malignant  cruelty;  the  heartlessness  with 
which  he  watched  victims  burning  at  the  stake;  his 

[11] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


outrages  on  helpless  women  and  children;  the  fiendish 
acts  of  savagery  with  which  his  brutal  name  was  con- 
nected along  the  border.  And  this  was  the  man  —  this 
cowardly-eyed  dastard,  who  stood  there  grinning  into 
my  face,  evidently  amused  at  my  undisguised  expression 
of  horror.  Protect,  and  guide  him!  My  first  inclina- 
tion was  to  strike  the  man  down  in  his  tracks,  kill  him 
as  I  would  a  venomous  snake.  He  read  all  this  in  my 
eyes,  in  the  stiffening  of  my  muscles. 

"  No,  no,  Master  Hayward,"  he  sneered,  bringing  his 
rifle  forward,  "  do  n't  let  the  name  frighten  you.  The 
half  you  've  heard  of  me  are  lies.  I  'm  not  so  bad  when 
all  is  told,  and  there  is  more  than  one  borderman  who 
can  recall  my  mercy.  Kenton  escaped  the  stake  through 
me,  and  there  are  white  women  and  children  awaiting 
ransom  in  Detroit  because  I  interceded  for  them.  Give 
the  devil  his  due,  lad,  and  remember  I  come  now  on  a 
mission  of  peace." 

"  More  likely  of  treachery,'*  I  interrupted  boldly, 
"  and  not  the  first  time." 

"  Nor  likely  to  be  the  last,"  he  admitted  coolly 
enough.  "  I  am  more  Indian  than  white.  I  have  learned 
to  war  in  the  fashion  of  the  woods.  Yet  now  I  play 
fair,  above-board  —  see?  "  and  he  dropped  his  gun  on 
the  grass,  and  held  out  his  empty  hands.  "  It  is  easy 
to  kill  me,  yet  you  will  not  —  you  are  a  soldier." 

[12] 


At  the  Fort  Gates 


I  stood  irresolute,  hesitating,  half  tempted  still  to 
come  to  blows.  I  cared  nothing  for  what  he  said;  I 
knew  him  for  what  he  was,  yet  his  act  disarmed  me. 
Beast  though  he  might  be  I  could  not  kill  him  in  cold 
blood;  I  was  no  murderer,  yet  it  was  a  struggle  to  re- 
sist 

"  Now  listen,  Simon  Girty,"  I  managed  to  say,  at 
last.  "  There  is  no  friendship  between  us,  now  nor  at 
any  time.  I  hold  you  a  murderous  renegade,  a  white 
savage,  to  be  shown  less  mercy  than  an  Indian  dog.  But 
I  leave  others  to  deal  with  you  as  you  deserve.  As  you 
say,  I  am  a  soldier,  and  will  act  like  one.  I  have  pledged 
you  my  word  of  guidance  to  Fort  Harmar.  I  will  keep 
the  pledge  to  the  letter,  but  no  more.  Beyond  the  gate 
you  proceed  at  your  own  risk,  for  I  lift  no  hand  to  pro- 
tect you  from  just  vengeance.  I  despise  you  too  much 
to  fear  you.  Pick  up  your  rifle.  That  is  all:  now  we 
will  break  our  fast,  and  go." 

He  did  as  I  bade  him,  grinning  as  though  it  was  all  a 
joke,  but  with  no  effort  to  answer.  Whatever  might 
be  his  real  purpose,  he  had  no  desire  to  quarrel,  nor  to 
resent  my  plain  speech;  indeed,  I  thought  he  held  my 
words  a  compliment,  rejoicing  in  his  reputation,  proud 
of  those  atrocities  with  which  his  name  was  linked  in 
infamy. 

I  had  no  need  to  tell  him  what  to  do.  He  was  a  woods- 
[13] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


man,  efficient  enough,  and  between  us,  a  fire  was  quickly 
made  and  the  cock  prepared.  We  ate  silently,  our  eyes 
occasionally  meeting,  but  I  had  no  wish  to  converse, 
being  busy  enough  with  my  own  thoughts.  There  was 
little  cordiality  to  my  manner,  I  presume,  and  the  fel- 
low had  the  good  sense  to  hold  his  tongue,  although  his 
appetite  did  not  suffer.  The  meal  finished  we  packed 
for  the  trail,  and  started  out  briskly  down  the  bank  of 
the  stream. 

Convinced  as  I  was  that  Girty  actually  desired  to 
reach  the  fort,  although  somewhat  skeptical  as  to  his 
purpose,  I  felt  no  fear  of  treachery.  I  was  of  too  great 
value  to  the  fellow  to  warrant  an  attack;  so,  without 
hesitation,  I  led  the  way,  permitting  him  to  follow  or 
not,  as  he  pleased.  I  doubt  if  we  exchanged  a  dozen 
words  all  day,  the  two  of  us  tramping  steadily.  My 
thoughts  and  suspicions  kept  my  mind  busy,  and  he 
must  have  realized  the  aversion  I  felt,  and  the  value  of 
a  silent  tongue.  Words  would  have  inevitably  led  to 
quarrel,  and  without  my  aid  there  was  small  chance  of 
his  ever  reaching  the  settlements  unharmed.  Our  pas- 
sage was  open  most  of  the  way,  permitting  rapid  prog- 
ress, although  as  we  drew  nearer  the  river  the  forest 
crept  down  close  to  the  bank  of  the  smaller  stream 
and  served  to  delay  progress.  We  camped  that  night 
within  view  of  the  Ohio,  smoking  our  pipes  in  gloomy 

[14] 


At  the  Fort  Gates 


silence  over  the  dying  fire,  after  a  frugal  meal,  and 
finally  falling  asleep,  with  scarcely  an  utterance  pass- 
ing between  us. 

I  had  it  in  my  mind  to  question  him,  but  refrained. 
What  would  be  the  use?  The  fellow  would  only  lie, 
in  all  probability,  and  one  word  would  lead  to  another. 
He  would  have  to  be  explicit  enough  once  he  confronted 
Harmar,  and  my  duty  merely  consisted  in  delivering  him 
safely  at  the  gates  of  the  fort.  That  in  itself  was  no 
task  to  be  enjoyed,  as  I  felt  an  inclination  to  throttle 
the  ruffian  every  time  I  looked  at  him.  To  address  him 
decently  was  almost  beyond  my  power,  and  the  con- 
tempt of  silence  remained  my  only  refuge.  The  night 
passed  without  disturbance,  Girty  sleeping  peacefully 
enough,  but  I  was  restless,  rising  twice  to  assure  my- 
self he  was  still  there.  With  the  first  flush  of  dawn  I 
awoke  him  roughly,  and  by  sunrise  we  were  again  on 
the  trail,  headed  south  through  the  woods. 

It  was  noon  when  we  came  to  the  clearings,  littered 
with  stumps,  but  yielding  view  of  the  distant  river,  and 
the  scattered  log  houses  of  Marietta.  Men  were  at 
work  in  the  fields,  but  I  avoided  these  as  much  as  possi- 
ble, although  they  paused  in  their  labor  and  stared  sus- 
piciously at  us  as  we  advanced.  However  I  was  well 
known,  my  size  making  me  notable,  and  as  our  course 
was  toward  the  town,  no  one  objected  to  our  progress. 

[15] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


We  were  silently  accepted  as  hunters  returning  unsuc- 
cessful from  the  woods ;  but  I  noticed  those  nearest  eyed 
my  companion  closely,  little  liking  his  hang-dog  appear- 
ance. Yet  there  was  no  recognition  of  the  man,  who 
clung  close  to  my  heels,  and  I  wasted  no  time  in  getting 
past,  eager  to  be  well  rid  of  him. 

In  truth  I  felt  little  hope  of  getting  thro'  thus  easily. 
The  fellow  was  too  widely  known  not  to  be  recognized 
by  someone.  These  men  of  the  fields  were  settlers,  newly 
arrived  mostly,  and  slightly  acquainted  as  yet  with  bor- 
der history,  but  there  would  be  idle  hunters  in  the  vil- 
lage, backwoodsmen  from  across  the  river,  men  who  had 
ranged  the  northern  forests,  and  to  whom  the  name  of 
Girty  meant  much.  Let  one  of  these  look  upon  the  man 
and  his  life  would  scarce  be  worth  the  snap  of  a  finger. 
Not  that  I  cared,  except  as  his  safe  passage  involved  my 
own  word.  His  comprehension  of  the  danger  was  re- 
vealed by  the  sudden  question  shot  over  my  shoulder: 

"  You  go  through  the  settlement,  Master  Hay- 
ward?" 

"  No,"  I  answered  sharply,  "  I  am  not  seeking 
trouble.  We  turn  here  to  the  left." 

Hence  it  was  some  time  later  that  we  climbed  the  long 
hill  in  the  sunshine,  and  attained  the  level  before  the 
fort. 

I  shall  never  blot  out  from  memory  the  view  from 
[16] 


At  the  Fort  Gates 


the  summit  of  the  bluff,  although  I  gave  it  little  enough 
thought  that  day  with  Girty  following  at  my  heels.  Yet 
I  paused  long  enough  to  note  his  eyes  sweep  the  wide 
circle  as  though  even  his  hardened  soul  felt  response  to 
the  rare  beauty  of  the  scene.  The  two  rivers  —  the 
Muskingum,  a  mere  thread  showing  through  the  green 
of  the  forest,  and  the  Ohio,  a  broad  gleam  of  gold  daz- 
zling in  the  sun  —  met  far  below  us,  the  latter  sweeping 
in  a  great  bend  to  the  northward  between  shores  covered 
with  green  forests.  It  was  all  wilderness  far  as  the  eye 
could  see,  except  that  beneath  the  bluff  little  clearings 
dotted  the  woodland,  and  on  the  nearby  bank  of  the 
silvery  Muskingum  appeared  the  log  houses  of  the  set- 
tlement. The  smoke  curling  lazily  from  those  distant 
chimneys,  the  diminutive  figures  of  men  toiling  in  the 
fields,  the  occasional  appearance  of  women  and  chil- 
dren in  the  streets  of  the  village,  helped  compose  a  pic- 
ture of  peace.  Yet  as  I  glanced  back  into  the  face  of 
the  man  beside  me,  I  realized  suddenly  how  close  sav- 
age war  lurked  in  the  depths  of  the  surrounding  forest. 
Torture  and  death,  suffering  and  hardship,  were  close 
at  hand,  and  he  was  their  fit  representative. 

"  Come  along,"  I  said  harshly.  "  I  would  be  done 
with  you." 

We  advanced  up  the  road  to  where  the  fort  gates 
stood  open,  a  single  sentry  standing  motionless  between 

[17] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


the  posts.  As  we  drew  near,  a  group  of  hunters  —  a 
half-dozen  maybe  —  suddenly  emerged,  their  long  rifles 
trailing,  on  their  way  to  the  valley.  I  recognized  the 
man  in  advance  as  the  Kentuckian  Brady,  frontiersman 
and  Indian  fighter,  and  recognizing  me  he  stopped. 

"  Ah,  back  again,  Master  Hayward,"  he  exclaimed 
good  humoredly.  "  And  with  what  luck?  " 

"  Not  much,"  I  replied,  anxious  to  get  by.  "  There 
are  too  many  hunters  out,  and  the  game  is  shy.  Per- 
chance I  lack  the  skill  of  you  who  make  forest  ranging 
a  trade." 

"  And  a  poor  trade  enough,"  he  answered,  "  only  I 
know  no  better.  But  what  is  it  you  have  here?  No  set- 
tler of  this  valley,  to  my  remembrance." 

He  stared  at  my  companion,  shading  his  eyes  with 
one  hand,  his  face  losing  its  look  of  cheerfulness. 

"  Indian  trappings  —  hey !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Some 
northwest  renegade !  Stop !  I  've  seen  that  face  be- 
fore !  "  His  rifle  came  forward  swiftly,  as  the  truth 
burst  upon  him.  "  Curse  you,  you  're  Simon  Girty !  " 

I  gripped  the  barrel  of  his  gun,  pressing  my  way  be- 
tween him  and  the  others  behind. 

"  Whatever  his  name,"  I  said  sternly,  "  this  is  not 
your  affair.  The  fellow  comes  with  message  from  Ham- 
ilton, and  has  my  pledge  of  safe  guidance.  Stand  back 
now,  and  let  us  pass !  " 

[18] 


He  gazed  at  me  and  at  the  man  beside  me,  his 
gray  eyes  dark  with  anger.  He  was  not  a  man  I 
knew  well  personally,  but  many  border  tales  of  his 
prowess,  and  of  his  fierce,  undying  hatred  of  all  In- 
dians, had  reached  my  ears.  As  he  stood  there  now, 
blocking  the  passage,  tall,  gaunt,  gray-bearded,  his 
eyes  full  of  defiance,  I  understood  the  seriousness  of  his 
menace.  Those  men  with  him  would  be  swayed  by  his 
words  —  he  was  their  leader.  Not  a  face  among  them 
was  known  to  me  —  Kentuckians  all,  no  doubt ;  "  long 
knives  "  scarcely  less  barbarous  than  the  savages  they 
fought. 

"  I  '11  not  stand  back,"  he  said,  wrestling  to  break  my 
grip  on  his  rifle.  "  Not  to  let  that  devil  go  free.  Let 
go  of  the  gun  barrel,  you  young  fool !  I  'm  not  one  of 
your  soldiers.  Here  Potter,  Evans,  do  you  hear?  That 
is  the  bloody  villain  Girty  —  come  on  !  " 

They  had  hold  of  me  instantly  hurling  me  back  in 
spite  of  my  struggling.  I  saw  the  renegade  throw  for- 
ward his  rifle,  and  shouted  to  him. 

"  Do  n't  do  that,  you  fool  —  run !  " 

Even  as  I  cried  out  the  order  I  leaped  forward,  seek- 
ing to  get  grip  on  Brady,  hurling  the  others  aside  with 
a  sweep  of  my  arms.  There  was  an  instant  of  fierce 
fighting,  of  blows,  curses,  threats.  I  lunged  over  the 
rifle  barrel,  and  got  grip  on  Brady's  beard,  only  to 

[19] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


be  hauled  back  by  a  dozen  hands,  and  flung  to  my 
knees. 

"  Sentry !     Call  the  guard !  " 

I  got  the  words  out  somehow,  boring  my  way  forth 
from  under  the  huddle  of  forms.  There  was  a  rush  of 
feet,  the  shouting  of  an  order,  the  shock  of  contact,  and 
then  I  stood  alone,  wiping  the  perspiration  from  my 
eyes. 


[20] 


CHAPTER  III 

WITH   GENERAL   HARMAR 

'TTIHAT  will  do,  sergeant,"  I  called  out,  the  moment 

•*•  I  could  gain  breath.  "Here  now,  do  n't  hit  that 
man!  Surround  this  fellow  and  take  him  inside  the 
stockade.  Never  mind  me ;  I  '11  take  care  of  myself." 

The  little  squad  tramped  off,  Girty  in  their  midst,  his 
head  turned  back  over  his  shoulder  watchfully.  I 
stepped  forward  fronting  Brady,  and  held  out  my  hand. 

"  Sorry  this  happened,"  I  said  soberly,  "  but  I  prom- 
ised to  bring  the  man  to  the  fort,  and  I  had  to  defend 
him." 

"  He  's  a  bloody  savage !  "  he  retorted,  with  an  oath, 
and  making  no  responsive  movement ;  "  he  's  worse  than 
any  Injun  on  the  border." 

"  I  know  all  that,  Brady.  I  despise  the  fellow  as 
much  as  any  of  you,  although  I  may  not  have  suffered 
through  his  acts  as  some  of  you  have.  But  he  is  here 
in  peace,  not  war.  To  injure  him  now  might  cost 
hundreds  of  lives.  Let  him  give  his  message  to  General 
Harmar;  after  that  we  shall  know  how  to  deal  with  the 
skunk.  At  least  do  not  hold  this  against  me ;  I  only  did 
my  duty." 

[21] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


Brady  loosened  his  grip  on  his  gun,  and  took  my 
hand. 

"  I  understand  that,  boy,"  he  said,  not  unkindly. 
"  Your  fighting  was  square  enough,  and  no  harm  done. 
I  like  the  way  you  went  at  it,  but  I  reckon  you  do  n't 
quite  sense  how  we  old  Kentuckians  feel  about  renegades 
o'  that  stripe.  'Taint  natural  you  should,  for  there  ain't 
been  no  Injun  war  to  amount  to  anything  since  you 
come  to  this  country.  But  I  've  seen  that  greasy  devil 
in  paint  an'  feathers ;  so  has  Evans  here,  an'  these  yer 
young  fellows  know  some  of  the  dirt  he  's  done.  He  's 
led  war  parties  against  us,  an'  killed  our  neighbors. 
That  skunk  stood  by  an'  let  'em  burn  ol'  man  Roddy  at 
the  stake,  an'  never  raised  a  hand.  It 's  a  hellish  fact, 
true,  sir !  An'  he  only  laughed  at  Kenton  when  the  red- 
skins made  him  run  the  gauntlet.  The  ugly  cur  ought 
to  be  skinned  alive !  " 

"  I  've  heard  all  that,"  I  replied  when  he  stopped,  his 
eyes  blazing  angrily.  "  But  two  wrongs  never  made  a 
right,  men.  He  came  here  voluntarily  as  a  messenger. 
The  tribes  are  in  council  at  Sandusky  and  sent  him. 
That  is  why  I  stood  in  his  defense  against  you.  We 
must  learn  what  word  he  brings.  If  he  were  killed  on 
such  a  mission  every  Indian  in  the  northwest  would  feel 
called  upon  to  avenge  his  death.  It  would  mean  raids 
and  warfare  the  whole  length  of  the  Ohio ;  it  would  mean 


With  General  H  or  mar 


the  murder  of  women  and  children ;  the  burning  of 
homes,  and  all  the  horrors  of  Indian  warfare  for  years 
to  come.  There  is  only  a  fringe  of  white  settlers  on  this 
side  of  the  river,  Brady,  and  a  mere  handful  of  soldiers 
to  defend  them.  All  the  northwest  tribes  are  united 
together  against  us,  securely  backed  and  encouraged  by 
British  agents.  English  troops  still  occupy  the  forts 
about  the  great  lakes,  and  furnish  their  allies  with  guns 
and  ammunition.  Hamilton,  and  his  emissaries,  travel 
from  tribe  to  tribe;  his  officers  and  spies  scour  the 
woods.  All  that  is  needed  to  touch  a  match  to  the  mag- 
azine is  an  excuse.  Any  act  of  treachery  —  the  kill- 
ing of  a  messenger,  even  a  cur  like  Girty  —  would  be 
enough.  Hamilton  cannot  control  those  fiends  once  they 
feel  the  blood-lust.  We  cannot  afford  to  have  war,  we 
are  not  ready." 

"  Ready?  rot!  I  am  for  going  in  now,  an*  finishing 
the  job.  This  new  government  policy  of  strokin'  those 
devils  on  the  back,  makes  me  sick.  That  ain't  the  way 
we  cleaned  up  Kentucky." 

"  Easier  said  than  done,  Brady.  This  is  n't  Ken- 
tucky, and  the  conditions  are  different.  Those  were 
hunters  and  backwoodsmen  who  took  possession  of  that 
land  to  the  south.  They  came  alone,  on  foot,  rifle  in 
hand,  fighting  men  every  one.  That  was  their  trade. 
These  settlers  who  have  come  in  north  of  the  Ohio  are 

[23] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


of  a  different  breed;  they  have  brought  wives  and  chil- 
dren with  them,  and  have  come  to  till  the  land.  They  are 
not  hunters  and  woodsmen ;  half  of  them  never  even  saw 
an  Indian.  They  would  be  as  helpless  as  babes  on  a 
war  trail.  They  are  colonists  from  the  East,  brought 
out  here  by  organized  companies,  and  promised  the  pro- 
tection of  regular  troops.  And  what  is  there  between 
them  and  the  savages  yonder?  Two  small  companies 
of  infantry  here  at  Harmar,  and  maybe  a  hundred  more 
men  scattered  at  little  posts  west  of  Fort  Pitt.  And  you 
talk  of  fighting  all  the  northwest  tribes  with  a  handful 
like  that !  Ay !  and  the  British  garrisons  back  of  them ! 
Start  it,  my  friend,  and  let  me  tell  you  that  inside  of 
thirty  days  there  would  n't  be  a  white  settler  left  alive 
along  this  river.  St.  Clair  and  Harmar  are  doing  the 
best  they  can  under  such  conditions.  They  have  got  to 
compromise ;  they  do  n't  dare  provoke  war.  The  Indians 
and  the  British  know  this  is  true ;  Girty  knows  it,  or  he 
never  would  have  ventured  to  come  in  here  —  what  is 
it,  Faulkner?  " 

The  sergeant,  a  short,  stocky  fellow,  saluted  stiffly. 

"  The    compliments    of   General   Harmar,    sir,    and 
would  you  come  to  his  office." 

"  At  once ;  what  did  you  do  with  the  man  you  were 
put  in  charge  of?  " 

"  He  is  in  the  guardhouse,  sir." 
[24] 


With  General  Harmar 


"  You  reported  his  arrival  to  General  Harmar?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  and  he  said  he  desired  to  talk  with  you 
first." 

"  Very  well,  sergeant,  as  soon  as  I  can  slip  out  of 
these  hunting  clothes.  Am  I  right,  Brady?  " 

"  Maybe  so,"  he  admitted  reluctantly,  "  but  that 
ain't  my  style  o'  handling  Injuns.  I  reckon  we  '11  hang 
'round  boys,  till  we  see  what 's  comin'  out  o'  this  yer 
message  bearin'.  I  'd  sure  like  to  be  in  any  fracas  whar 
I  could  get  a  slam  at  that  hound  o'  hell." 

Fort  Harmar  consisted  merely  of  a  few  one-story 
houses,  surrounded  by  a  log  stockade.  The  houses  were 
against,  or  rather  formed  the  rear  defense,  and  faced 
the  gate,  with  a  considerable  open  space  between,  some- 
times utilized  as  a  drill  ground  for  a  single  company. 
Sentry  boxes  were  at  each  corner,  and  a  long  building 
of  logs,  intended  as  a  barracks,  but  generally  unoccu- 
pied except  as  a  receptacle  for  odds  and  ends,  extended 
across  the  north  side.  The  commandant's  office  was  to 
the  south.  Altogether  it  was  a  rude,  primitive  arrange- 
ment, typical  of  the  hastily  erected  frontier  forts  lo- 
cated along  the  river,  intended  more  for  the  housing  of 
troops  than  any  stern  purpose  of  defense.  Situated  as 
it  was,  on  the  summit  of  the  bluff,  and  surrounded  by 
open  land,  it  might  be  successfully  defended  against 
Indian  attack,  but  otherwise  was  a  mere  stockade  camp. 

[25] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


guardhouse  stood  just  within  the  gates,  and  sen- 
tries walked  a  narrow  platform  from  which  they  could 
see  over  the  stockade  and  keep  watch  in  every  direction. 
For  those  days  discipline  was  strict  in  the  garrison,  and 
the  troops  were  well  drilled,  as  General  Harmar  was  a 
vigilant  commander,  delighting  in  martial  order  and 
display. 

It  required  but  a  few  moments  for  me  to  shift 
my  hunting  suit  for  a  suitable  uniform,  and  this  ac- 
complished, I  hurried  across  the  parade  to  the  office. 
The  orderly  admitted  me  at  once.  General  Harmar 
was  alone,  sitting  beside  a  small  writing  table,  and  be- 
gan questioning  me  the  instant  I  appeared. 

"  Close  the  door,  Mr.  Hayward.  Now,  sir,  what  is 
it  that  just  happened  outside  the  gate?  Fighting  with 
some  of  my  scouts,  I  understand,  over  a  fellow  you 
brought  in  with  you?  I  presume  there  was  some  cause 
for  this  unseemly  quarrel?  " 

"  There  was,  General  Harmar,"  I  replied,  standing 
cap  in  hand. 

He  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  drumming  with  one 
hand  on  the  table,  his  stern  eyes  on  my  face. 

"  Then  make  your  report,  sir." 

I  went  over  the  events  of  the  past  few  hours  rapidly, 
but  clearly,  and  there  was  no  interruption  until  I  ceased 
to  speak. 

[26] 


With  General  Harmar 


"  Who  did  you  say  the  man  was  ?  " 

"  Simon  Girty,  sir.  That  was  the  name  he  gave  me, 
and  Brady  recognized  him  at  once." 

Harmar  rose  to  his  feet,  and  stormed  across  the  room, 
trying  to  find  voice  for  his  anger. 

"  And  they  dare  send  that  bloody  fiend  in  here  to 
negotiate  with  me!  and  I  will  have  to  see  and  talk  with 
the  dog !  If  only  I  had  a  thousand  men  to  use  in  defense 
of  this  frontier,  I  Jd  have  him  kicked  out  of  the  gates 
inside  of  five  minutes.  But  what  have  I?  Barely  three 
hundred,  and  half  of  them  recruits,  the  scum  of  city 
alleys,  who  do  not  even  know  the  beginning  of  the  man- 
ual of  arms.  The  whole  lot  are  not  equal  to  a  single 
platoon  of  Continentals  in  a  fight.  That  is  what  they 
give  me  with  which  to  protect  fifteen  hundred  miles  of 
frontier.  And  I  am  expected  to  keep  peace  —  peace 
with  howling  red  savages,  stirred  into  frenzy  by  British 
agents,  and  white  renegades.  And  to  do  it,  I  must 
crawl  on  my  belly,  and  speak  soft  to  this  dog  Girty.  I 
would  St.  Clair  was  here." 

He  stopped  suddenly. 

"  What  is  his  mission?    Did  he  say?  " 

"  Not  a  word,  sir,  except  that  he  represented  the 
tribes,  and  bore  a  message  from  Hamilton." 

"Think  you  he  lied?  Is  his  purpose  to  learn  our 
strength  and  position  ?  " 

[27] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  No,  sir,  I  think  not,"  I  replied  soberly.  "  There 
was  no  necessity ;  beyond  doubt  they  know  that  already. 
I  do  not  think  the  fellow  would  dare  come  other  than 
he  said:  he  is  not  of  that  breed." 

"A  coward?" 

"  At  heart  —  yes.  A  savage  full  of  treachery,  sneak- 
ing and  malicious;  willing  enough  to  fight  with  odds  in 
his  favor,  but  not  the  kind  to  stand  up  to  it  alone." 

"  You  think  I  should  see  him,  then  ?  " 

"  You  would  assume  a  great  risk  not  to  do  so,  sir. 
The  man  may  be  the  bearer  of  important  word." 

He  walked  back  and  forth  across  the  room,  his  hands 
clasped,  his  head  bent  in  thought.  He  was  a  florid- 
faced,  heavily-built  man,  his  step  heavy  on  the  puncheon 
floor.  Facing  the  door,  he  stopped  with  sudden  decision. 

"  Orderly,"  he  called,  "  have  the  sergeant  of  the 
guard  bring  the  messenger  here  at  once.  Search  him 
for  weapons  first." 

He  turned  toward  me. 

"  I  do  not  trust  the  villain,  but  I  '11  hear  his  tale.  I 
may  need  you,  Mr.  Hayward;  remain  there  in  the  back 
room  until  I  call." 

I  could  see  no  door. 

"Where,  sir?" 

"  In  the  den,  beyond :  the  robe  hides  the  entrance. 
If  I  need  you  I  will  call.  The  dog  is  coming  now." 

[28] 


With  General  Harmar 


I  could  see  him  out  through  the  window,  walking  be- 
side the  sergeant  across  the  parade,  and  stepping  back 
I  pushed  aside  the  robe.  The  door  thus  revealed  was 
caught  by  a  wooden  latch.  I  opened  it,  and  stepped 
within. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A  GIRL   OF  THE   NORTH 

interior  of  this  room  which  I  now  entered  for 
the  first  time  was  a  revelation  to  me.  While  I  had 
been  aware  that  the  office  of  the  commandant  did  not  oc- 
cupy the  entire  log  structure,  I  had  supposed  that  the 
remaining  space  was  merely  a  storehouse,  although  in 
truth  I  had  given  the  matter  no  real  consideration.  I 
had  been  at  the  fort  barely  a  month,  engaged  arduously 
in  the  drilling  of  recruits,  and  had  paid  small  attention 
to  anything  else.  So  as  I  entered  I  stood,  the  door 
closing  behind  me,  and  stared  about  in  astonishment. 

It  was  fitted  up  as  a  lounging  room,  a  den ;  yet  bear- 
ing more  resemblance  to  the  tepee  of  a  savage,  than  any 
abode  of  civilization.  The  trappings  of  war,  the  trib- 
utes of  the  chase,  were  everywhere  in  evidence.  Skins 
of  wild  animals  decorated  the  walls,  concealing  the  logs 
from  view,  while  others  covered  the  floor.  Above  the 
open  fireplace  were  huge  antlers,  while  on  every  side 
were  the  heads  of  bear,  lynx,  and  wild  cat,  staring 
through  glassy  eyes.  Firearms  of  various  periods  hung 
between,  the  collection  extending  from  blunderbuss  to 
long  rifle,  with  many  specimens  of  smaller  arms,  in- 

[31] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


eluding  a  pair  of  black-handled  Derringers.  It  would 
have  been  a  sombre  scene  but  for  the  bright  colored 
flags  festooned  from  wall  to  wall,  and  the  sunlight 
which  streamed  in  through  the  single  high  window,  ac- 
centuating the  rich  glow  of  various  Indian  blankets 
flung  over  couch  and  chair.  In  the  center  stood  a  table 
of  walnut  with  curiously  carved  legs,  upholding  tobacco 
and  pipes,  together  with  writing  material,  and  in  the 
fireplace  a  back  log  threw  out  little  spits  of  flame. 

I  saw  all  this  with  a  single  glance  as  I  shut  the  door, 
yet  almost  with  the  instant,  my  entire  attention  was 
riveted  upon  an  occupant,  and  I  stood  motionless, 
scarcely  crediting  my  own  eyes,  as  I  stared  across  the 
table  at  the  couch  against  the  farther  wall.  It  was  in 
shadow,  underneath  the  window,  draped  by  a  yellow 
blanket,  and  in  one  cushioned  corner  sat  a  girl,  her  dark 
head  bent  low  over  an  open  book.  So  intent  was  she 
upon  the  pages  that  she  had  not  heard  my  entrance,  or 
else  remained  indifferent,  thinking  me  no  stranger  to 
the  apartment.  The  light  gave  me  but  partial  view, 
and  her  lowered  head  left  her  face  in  deep  shadow,  yet 
surely  she  was  no  one  whom  I  had  ever  seen  before  — • 
no  lady  of  the  garrison,  few  enough  to  be  well  remem- 
bered, and  no  guest  at  Marietta,  unless  perchance 
some  arrival  from  up  river  within  the  last  three  days. 
That  was  possible,  although  no  rumor  of  descending 


A  Girl  of  the  North 


boats  had  reached  my  ears.  Yet  if  so,  who  could  she 
be  thus  thoroughly  at  home  in  this  room?  A  daughter 
of  the  General's  ?  A  relative  of  the  Governor's  ? 

She  was  young,  scarcely  out  of  her  girlhood  from  the 
clear  profile  of  her  cheek,  olive-tinted  in  the  shadow,  with 
a  profusion  of  hair  black  as  night,  and  a  figure  slender, 
but  not  tall.  I  saw  a  shapely  hand,  sunbrowncd  and 
ringless,  had  glimpse  of  a  rounded  arm,  and  a  full 
throat  revealed  by  the  low-cut  garment  she  wore,  and 
suddenly  noted  that  the  dress  was  of  Indian  style  and 
texture,  fringed  and  beaded  profusely,  fastened  by  gay 
ribbons,  and  that  her  limbs  were  encased  in  leather, 
while  moccasins,  bright  with  the  glitter  of  beads,  served 
to  protect  her  feet.  To  me  she  looked  a  wilderness 
fairy,  a  nut-brown  maid  of  the  woods,  rather  than  any 
product  of  civilized  lands.  Even  her  posture  of  careless 
abandon  was  that  of  the  wild.  I  could  not  easily  as- 
sociate such  a  creature  as  this  with  either  Harmar  or 
St.  Clair;  yet  who  could  she  be,  here,  and  alone?  I 
moved,  rattling  the  latch  to  attract  attention  to  rny 
presence,  yet  the  witch  never  glanced  up,  turning  a 
page  of  her  book  lazily. 

"  Your  pardon,"  I  ventured,  and  cap  in  hand,  ad- 
vanced to  the  table  nearer  her. 

She  came  to  her  feet  in  an  instant,  the  book  sliding 
to  the  floor,  the  long  black  lashes  no  longer  shadowing 

[33] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


the  dark  eyes  gazing  toward  me  in  sudden  interest.  She 
was  small,  swift  of  movement  as  a  forest  hare,  yet  for 
the  instant  I  saw  only  her  face,  and  the  unfathomable 
depths  of  those  eyes.  They  were  full  of  bewilderment, 
surprise,  laughter.  As  though  some  mysterious  mes- 
sage had  passed  between  us,  I  knew  she  was  glad  I  had 
come. 

"  Why,  Monsieur,"  she  exclaimed,  hesitating  slightly 
over  the  words,  "  I  am  startled !  You  should  feel  my 
heart  beat  —  so  fast.  I  thought  it  the  Generail,  yes  — 
who  else  ?  But  I  nevaire  see  you  before ;  you  —  you 
are  an  officier  of  the  Americains  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  belong  to  this  garrison.  But  the  surprise 
of  finding  you  here  was  mine  also.  I  was  not  told  the 
room  was  occupied  —  and  —  you  are  French  ?  " 

She  laughed,  showing  a  dimple  in  either  cheek,  and  a 
flash  of  white  teeth. 

"  How  you  say  that,  Monsieur?"  she  questioned 
archly.  "  When  I  speak  so  good  the  English.  Eet  was 
wonderful  you  know." 

"  Then  I  am  right,  Mademoiselle  ?  " 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders,  with  an  odd  gesture. 

"  Mon  Dieu!  How  should  I  know?  It  was  the  tongue 
I  learned  first,  an'  this  English  eet  was  most  hard,  most 
deeficult.  I  like  eet  not  at  all.  Maybe  yqu  speak  my 
language,  Monsieur  ?  Eet  make  me  so  happy." 

[34] 


A  Girl  of  the  North 


I  shook  my  head,  yet  had  to  smile  at  the  eagerness 
of  her  face. 

"  Not  well  enough  to  be  of  any  help,  I  fear.  All  I 
know  of  the  tongue  I  picked  up  along  the  frontier  from 
stray  traders.  Back  in  my  home  one  language  answered 
all  purposes." 

"Your  home?" 

"  Yes,  in  Maryland :  back  beyond  the  mountains," 
noting  her  expression  of  wonderment,  and  pointing  east- 
ward. "  I  could  ask  for  food,  drink,  and  guidance  at  a 
French  hunters'  camp,  but  beyond  that  am  helpless. 
Your  eyes  tell  me,  Mademoiselle,  that  the  country  east 
of  here  is  strange  to  you." 

"  Theese  Mary-land  I  nevaire  know  before  —  non ! 
non!  I  read  in  ze  English  book  of  Vir-ginia  an*  of  ze 

—  what  you  call  eet?  —  Connec-cut.     I  thought  those 
the  home  of  the  Americans.    Ees  eet  not  so?  " 

I  sought  to  explain,  naming  over  the  various  newly 
organized  states,  and  briefly  defining  their  relations 
and  boundaries,  but  she  only  gazed  at  me  more  puzzled 
than  ever.  As  I  paused  she  laughed  again. 

"  You  try  so  hard,  but  I  not  know  yet.  Such  names ! 
I  could  not  say  them  —  Mass-a-chu-setts,  Pennsilva-na 

—  how  you  say  that,  Monsieur?     Oui,  but  I  cannot  so 
twist  my  lips:  yet  I  care  not,  only  to  remember  where 
was  your  home  —  Ma-ry-lan,  ees  eet  not  so  ?  " 

[35] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Very  well  done,  indeed,"  I  answered,  falling  into 
her  humor,  "  and  do  I  dare  ask  now  from  what  part 
of  the  land  you  hail?  " 

"You  not  know  me,  Monsieur?  "  her  eyes  drooping, 
then  uplifting  again.  "  An'  you  an  officier  of  the  Ameri- 
cains  ?  " 

"  No :  I  have  been  absent  hunting.  I  only  returned 
an  hour  ago." 

"  Een  the  woods  ?  Way  out  beyond  ?  An'  you  saw 
no  Indian,  no  French  courier  des  boisf  " 

"  Not  one ;  only  a  white  renegade  I  brought  in  with 
me  bearing  a  message." 

"From  the  tribes,  Monsieur?    From  Detroit?  " 

"  From  the  tribes,  yes,"  I  answered,  surprised  at  her 
eagerness,  yet  seeing  no  harm  in  a  frank  reply,  "  but 
they  were  in  council  at  Sandusky." 

"  Sandusky !  "  the  word  seemed  to  cling  to  her  red 
lips.  "  He  —  he  was  a  Frenchman  then  ?  " 

"  Who  ?  the  messenger  ?  Not  he.  We  can  under- 
stand the  relationship  between  the  Canadian  French  and 
the  savages.  They  have  always  been  friends,  but  this 
cur  is  of  another  breed  —  warring  against  his  own  peo- 
ple." 

She  leaned  forward,  the  laughter  aH  gone  from  her 
eyes. 

"  Who  —  who  was  he,  Monsieur?  n 
[36] 


A  Girl  of  the  North 


I  hesitated,  wondering  at  her  insistence,  her  eager- 
ness. She  leaned  forward  almost  touching  me  with  her 
fingers. 

"  Please,  Monsieur :  you  can  tell  me." 
"  A  white  dog  named  Girty ;  we  know  him  well." 
"  Simon   Girty !  "  her  hands   clasped,  her  lips   un- 
consciously   repeating   the   name.      "  And    from    San- 
dusky  !     You  say  he  brought  message  from  the  tribes  ? 
Mon  Dieu!    'T  is  strange  they  should  choose  him.     He 
said  so,  Monsieur?  " 

"  He  claimed  to  represent  the  tribes,  but  his  mes- 
sage was  from  Hamilton." 

"  An'  he  is  there  —  at  Sandusky  —  this  Monsieur 
Hamilton?" 

"  He  was  there  —  yes :  at  least  so  Girty  reports  ;  but 
I  know  nothing  as  to  where  he  may  be  now  —  back  in 
Detroit  likely,  plotting  new  mischief." 

"You  think  ill  of  heem?  Of  Monsieur  Hamilton?  " 
"  Do  I  ?  Pray,  Mademoiselle,  how  could  it  be  other- 
wise? That  country  is  all  ours,  ours  by  treaty,  yet  the 
British  hold  it  still,  merely  because  we  lack  strength  to 
take  possession.  Their  troops  continue  to  garrison  the 
lake  forts,  protected  by  a  fringe  of  savages,  kept  war- 
like by  British  agents,  promising  aid  they  dare  never 
give.  And  Hamilton  is  at  head  of  it  all.  His  red 
war  parties  ravage  our  settlements,  kill,  rob,  murder, 

[37] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


and  then  find  protection  behind  the  English  flag.  Their 
prisoners  go  to  Detroit;  their  guns  and  ammunition 
come  from  there.  There  have  been  occasions  when 
British  agents  have  headed  their  raids,  and  Hamilton 
is  the  archdevil  of  the  whole  conspiracy.  Who,  but  such 
a  man,  would  dare  send  Simon  Girty  here?  " 

My  indignant  speech  had  slight  effect  on  her,  for 
she  laughed  as  I  ended. 

"  Eet  was  done  most  well  —  so  fine  I  laff,  Monsieur. 
But  why  you  say  that  to  me?  Because  I  am  here?  in  this 
house  of  the  Americaine  generail?  Bah!  we  are  to- 
gether: we  are  alone.  My  people  are  yonder  in  the 
woods :  I  serve  not  these  long  faces  who  sing  psalms. 
Tell  me,  Monsieur,"  and  she  touched  my  hands,  her 
pleading  eyes  looking  up  into  mine,  "  why  is  eet  you  are 
here?  I  can  be  trusted." 

I  stared  down  into  her  eager  face,  almost  believing  I 
must  be  dreaming,  yet  conscious  enough  of  her  deep 
earnestness.  What  was  it  she  thought  or  imagined? 
What  strange  hallucination  had  taken  possession  of 
her?  Could  it  be  she  was  insane?  that  she  was  being 
held  here  a  prisoner?  I  drew  back,  freeing  myself  from 
the  grasp  of  her  fingers,  so  bewildered  I  found  speech 
difficult.  Yet,  wild  as  her  swift  words  were,  they  were 
not  those  of  one  crazed:  they  were  coherent,  plain,  and 
the  upturned  face  was  eloquent  with  appeal.  Could 

[38] 


A  Girl  of  the  North 


she  mistake  me  for  another?  be  deceived  as  to  my  iden- 
tity? The  thought  seemed  impossible,  almost  ridicu- 
lous. How  could  it  be,  when  I  stood  before  her  in 
uniform,  and  had  already  declared  myself  an  officer  of 
the  garrison  ?  The  eyes  gazing  up  at  me  seemed  misty, 
as  though  they  held  unshed  tears. 

"  Please,  Monsieur,"  she  urged  anxiously.  "  I  am 
but  a  girl  —  a  girl  of  the  North  —  yet  I  can  be  trusted. 
Tell  me  quick,  so  I  can  help." 

"  But  I  do  not  understand,  Mademoiselle,  I  have 
told  you  who  I  am.  Why  should  you  speak  like  this  ?  " 

"  Because  I  know  you,"  she  insisted.  "  Because  I 
have  seen  you  before." 

"  Know  me ! "  I  smiled,  indulgent  of  her  whim,  con- 
•vinced  now  I  dealt  with  a  mind  diseased.  "  That  is 
hardly  possible." 

"  But  I  do,  Monsieur  Hayward,  I  do.  Have  you  no 
memory  of  me?  Of  my  face?  Why  are  you  so  afraid 
to  have  faith?  " 

She  had  spoken  my  name,  and  I  gazed  at  her  in  wide- 
eyed  astonishment.  Surely  we  had  never  met ;  yet  how 
could  she  know? 

"Am  I  not  right?" 

"  Yes,  but  I  have  no  memory  of  seeing  you  before, 
and  you  are  not  one  to  be  easily  forgotten.  Tell  me 
who  you  are?  " 

[39] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


The  dimples  exhibited  themselves  in  either  cheek,  yet 
she  faced  me  without  a  movement. 

"  Eet  is  not  right  you  should  forget,  Monsieur ;  eet 
is  no  compliment.  Yet  I  will  answer;  I  am  not  afraid, 
and  then  you  must  remember.  I  am  Rene  D'Auvray." 

The  name  meant  nothing,  told  nothing. 

"Rene  D'Auvray?"  I  repeated  dumbly,  striving  to 
make  the  sound  familiar. 

"  Oui,  Monsieur :  now  — " 

She  sprang  back  beyond  the  table,  one  finger  at  her 
lips.  The  door  opened  at  my  back. 

"  Now  Hayward,"  said  Harmar's  voice  bruskly. 
"  I  *ve  done  with  that  scoundrel,  and  would  speak  again 
with  you." 

My  eyes  clung  for  just  an  instant  to  those  of  the  girl, 
shrinking  back  into  the  shadows.  Then  I  turned  and 
went  out,  my  mind  full  of  bewilderment. 


[40] 


CHAPTER  V 

A  PERILOUS   VENTURE 

ENERAL  HARMAR  strode  across  the  room  to  his 
chair,  and  sat  down,  staring  out  of  the  window, 
his  eyes  frowning.  I  closed  the  door,  and  stood  waiting, 
swiftly  determining  to  discover  the  identity  of  that 
young  woman  within,  and  feeling  slight  heed  of  aught 
else.  Harmar  turned  his  eyes  toward  me,  surveying  me 
a  moment  in  silence. 

"  What  do  you  weigh,  Hay  ward  ?  "  he  snapped  out, 
as  tho'  noting  my  girth  for  the  first  time. 

"  Two  hundred  and  thirty,  sir." 

"  Huh !  and  every  inch  muscle  and  bone  from  the 
look  of  you.  Captain  Rennolls  tells  me  you  are  a  good 
soldier." 

"  I  am  thankful  for  his  opinion,  General  Harmar." 

"  Yes,  I  asked  him  a  few  days  ago,  when  I  signed 
your  application  for  leave.  Had  n't  seen  much  of  you 
myself,  as  you  have  only  been  here  a  short  time." 

"  A  few  months,  sir ;  I  brought  down  the  last  batch 
of  recruits  from  Fort  Pitt." 

"  I  know :  watched  you  drill  them  out  there,  the 
louts.  Zounds !  They  are  not  even  fit  food  for  powder. 

[41] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


Where  do  you  suppose  the  recruiting  officers  find  such 
stuff  as  they  send  out  here?  Never  saw  their  breed  in 
the  old  army ;  but  I  suppose  you  are  too  young  to  know 
much  about  that?  " 

"  I  enlisted  in  the  Maryland  Line  at  sixteen,  General, 
and  served  through  the  Yorktown  campaign." 

"  Then  you  are  twenty-seven  now  ?  " 

"  Next  month,  sir." 

"  By  gad !  you  do  n't  look  it.  However,  I  'm  glad 
you  are  no  boy,  for  I  've  got  some  serious  work  picked 
out  for  you.  How  far  north  have  you  ever  been  ?  " 

"  To  the  forks  of  the  Muskingum." 

He  drummed  with  his  fingers  on  the  table ;  then  pored 
over  a  rough  map. 

"  Huh !  the  hard  travel  will  be  beyond,  after  you 
leave  the  boat.  Would  you  undertake  a  journey  to 
Sandusky?" 

"  Alone,  sir  ?  "  I  asked,  startled  at  the  question,  the 
distance  vague  in  my  mind. 

"  With  a  scout,  who  knows  the  woods,"  he  answered, 
studying  my  face,  "  and  an  enlisted  man  to  cook,  and 
do  odd  jobs  around  camp.  A  small  party  is  better 
than  a  large  one  on  such  a  trip."  He  paused,  thinking. 

"  I  will  obey  orders,  sir.     I  am  a  soldier." 

"  Yes !  "  he  got  to  his  feet.  "  But  now  that  is  n't 
what  I  want.  I  expect  my  men  to  do  that.  But  this  is 

[42] 


A  Perilous  Venture 


not  strictly  a  military  matter,  and  I  give  you  no  orders. 
I  need  a  confidential  messenger,  a  man  of  intelligence 
and  nerve;  but  he  will  take  his  life  in  his  hand,  and 
possibly  to  no  purpose.  I  half  suspect  treachery,  and 
will  order  no  officer  of  my  command  to  such  hazardous 
service." 

He  stopped,  and  stood  staring  out  of  the  window, 
his  broad  back  toward  me.  Just  for  an  instant  I  hesi- 
tated to  break  the  silence,  my  mind  busy  with  stories  of 
that  long  wood  trail  through  the  Indian  country,  where 
death  lurked  in  every  forest  covert,  and  torture  wel- 
comed the  unfortunate  captive.  I  understood  what 
acceptance  of  such  a  commission  meant,  yet  the  spirit 
of  youth,  the  love  of  adventure,  was  strong  within  me  — 
stronger  even  than  caution. 

"  You  must  deem  this  matter  of  grave  importance," 
I  said,  at  last  firmly,  "  and  need  seek  no  further ;  I 
volunteer  to  go." 

He  wheeled  about,  and  grasped  my  hand. 

"  I  thought  so,  Hayward.  I  am  not  often  mistaken 
in  a  man,  and  I  like  your  face.  Yet  do  not  be  too  hasty 
in  decision.  Sit  down  here,  where  we  can  have  the  map 
between  us,  until  I  can  explain  what  hell  is  brewing  in 
the  pot  of  those  north  woods.  What  think  you  honestly 
of  Simon  Girty?" 

"  Everything  bad ;  a  scoundrel  from  head  to  foot." 
[43] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Ay !  yet  Hamilton  uses  him.  The  man  was  a  mes- 
senger, even  as  he  claimed.  The  Englishman  wrote 
that  with  his  own  hand ;  I  have  seen  the  writing  before.'* 

He  pushed  the  crumpled  bit  of  paper  across,  and  I 
read  the  crooked  lines  slowly,  for  the  penmanship  was 
almost  illegible.  Twice  I  read  it,  half  convinced  my 
brain  played  me  some  trick. 

"  Is  this  true,  sir?  "^ 

"  Some  of  it  is ;  enough  to  make  me  afraid  it  may 
all  be.  The  exact  situation  is  this,  Hayward.  The 
tribes  of  the  northwest  are  ready  for  war.  In  spite 
of  the  influence  of  the  chiefs  many  of  the  young  men 
are  already  on  the  war  trail.  They  are  in  small  parties 
ranging  the  woods,  attacking  outlying  settlers  and 
hunters.  Stories  of  outrages  come  drifting  in  here 
every  day.  Nothing  prevents  a  general  outbreak  but 
British  restraint,  and  the  opposition  of  the  Wyandots." 

"  A  strong  nation." 

"  The  most  important  in  the  Indian  alliance.  They 
are  no  friends  of  ours,  yet  they  claim  to  be  Christian, 
converted  by  French  Jesuits,  and  thus  far  the  priests 
have  held  them  on  the  side  of  peace.  For  the  first  time 
their  chiefs  have  met  in  council  with  the  others  and 
threaten  war.  Do  you  understand  the  cause?  " 

"  Not  clearly,  sir ;  because  of  some  prisoner  we  hold, 
is  it  not?  " 

[44] 


A  Perilous  Venture 


"  It  was  Greek  to  me,  also,  until  Girty  explained. 
That  is  where  trouble  arises.  We  have  no  such  pris- 
oner, but  if  I  send  that  word  back  by  Girty,  they  will 
believe  I  lied.  But  if  an  officer  of  this  garrison  goes 
boldly  to  them,  in  response  to  their  challenge;  faces 
them  at  their  council  fire,  and  says  so  openly  they  will 
probably  accept  his  word.  That  there  is  danger  in 
such  a  trip  I  do  not  deny ;  the  Indians  are  badly  wrought 
up,  or  Hamilton  would  never  send  us  warning.  You 
may  be  held  as  hostage,  or  suffer  even  a  worse  fate.  I 
can  promise  no  protection,  and  I  doubt  if  even  the 
British  can  control  the  warriors  if  they  think  we  are 
attempting  deceit." 

"  If  the  Wyandots  join  the  other  tribes  it  will  mean 
war?" 

"  Yes ;  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  frontier.  I 
have  no  force  with  which  to  meet  them;  hundreds  of 
lives  —  men,  women  and  children  —  will  be  destroyed ; 
settlements  ruined.  I  doubt  if  there  be  a  white  man  left 
north  of  the  Ohio  in  three  months  if  those  fiends 
break  loose.  This  is  not  my  work,  endeavoring  to  treat 
with  those  red  devils.  It  is  the  duty  of  the  Governor. 
But  St.  Clair  is  away;  I  have  no  means  of  reaching 
him  with  this  information.  The  Wyandots  demand 
instant  reply,  and  our  messenger  must  reach  them  as 
soon  as,  if  not  before,  the  return  of  Girty." 

[45] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Do  I  have  my  choice  of  scouts  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  Then  I  will  take  Brady,  sir." 

"  The  best  man  available.  I  would  have  named  him, 
only  I  feared  your  late  trouble  had  left  you  enemies." 

"  Not  at  all ;  it  was  a  fair  fight." 

I  sat  thinking  in  silence,  and  Harmar  waited.  The 
danger  of  the  journey  unrolled  before  me  in  imagina- 
tion —  the  perilous  waterways ;  the  long  trail  thro' 
the  trackless  woods,  menaced  by  roving  Indian  bands; 
the  hostile  tribes  in  council;  the  chances  of  treachery 
and  death  lurking  in  every  step  of  the  way.  Audacity, 
determination,  the  lives  dependent  on  my  success,  gave 
me  courage.  It  was  a  work  someone  must  do.  I  drew 
the  letter  over  again,  and  studied  it. 

"  You  are  sure,  General,  this  *  Wa-pe-tee-tah  '  is  not 
in  our  hands?  At  some  of  the  other  forts?  " 

"  As  sure  as  I  can  be ;  I  heard  from  Pitt  yesterday, 
with  reports  from  the  garrisons  between,  and  no  account 
was  made  of  such  a  prisoner  being  brought  in.  Ham- 
brouck  wrote  me  from  Vincennes  two  weeks  ago  —  some 
French  voyageurs  left  the  letter  on  their  way  up  the 
river  —  and  he  mentions  nothing  save  his  troubles 
with  the  Indians  of  the  Wabash,  who  are  most  impudent 
and  unruly  —  the  worst  of  the  lot  to  my  notion.  I 
expect  the  fellow  has  been  killed  in  the  woods." 

[46] 


A  Perilous  Venture 


"A  man,  then?  A  chief?"  To  my  ears  the  name 
had  feminine  sound — "  Wa-pe-tee-tah ;  'tis  as  musical 
as  a  brook." 

"  Ay !  it  sounds  like  that ;  but  Girty  gave  me  some 
other  name  I  have  forgotten.  Gad !  I  hated  so  to  talk 
with  the  foul-mouthed  renegade,  that  I  asked  few  ques- 
tions ;  only  you  may  be  sure  'tis  no  squaw  the  Wyandots 
would  war  over.  A  medicine  man,  or  something  of  that 
kidney,  as  I  understand ;  Girty  said  a  religious  teacher, 
whom  the  tribe  loved  more  than  a  chief." 

"  Is  that  all  the  story,  sir?  " 

"  Except  as  to  when  and  how  the  fellow  disappeared. 
It  seems  he  journeyed  with  other  Wyandots  to  the 
Miamis  on  some  mission,  and  then,  leaving  the  others 
behind,  proceeded  alone  to  the  Wabash  villages.  He 
visited  a  camp  of  white  hunters  on  the  Patoki,  and  then 
disappeared.  The  other  Wyandots  searched  the  forest 
for  leagues  about  the  abandoned  camp  before  they  re- 
turned North.  They  reported  the  hunters  to  have 
been  soldiers,  and  the  medicine  man  a  prisoner." 

"  On  the  Patoki;  that  is  below  Vincennes,  and  if  they 
were  soldiers  they  would  belong  to  that  garrison.  Yet 
Captain  Hambrouck  makes  no  report?" 

"  Not  a  word,  and  he  is  a  man  to  repeat  every  rumor." 

I  crossed  the  narrow  room  twice,  endeavoring  to 
sum  up  the  evidence  clearly. 

[47] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  A  poor  pretense  for  war,  surely,"  I  said  at  last, 
"  but  might  be  sufficient  to  Indian  mind." 

"  More  than  one  war,  even  among  civilized  nations, 
has  been  started  on  less,"  he  answered  soberly. 
"  Besides,  it  is  my  judgment  all  those  devils  want  is  an 
excuse.  They  may  have  manufactured  this  out  of  whole 
cloth ;  to  me  it  don't  look  reasonable.  But  you  have  all 
the  facts  now,  Hayward,  and  can  understand  what  to 
say  and  do.  Those  red  devils  know  our  weakness,  and 
are  wild  to  break  loose.  If  I  send  back  a  formal  letter 
by  the  hands  of  their  messenger,  denying  any  knowledge 
of  this  medicine  man  of  theirs,  and  expressing  regret  at 
his  disappearance,  they  will  consider  it  a  lie.  I  know 
Indian  nature ;  they  have  got  to  be  bluffed  at  their  own 
game.  Show  fear,  and  they  are  after  you  at  once,  the 
whole  pack  in  full  cry ;  face  them  boldly,  and  they  hesi- 
tate. If  you  go  straight  to  them,  through  the  woods  to 
their  council  fire,  an  officer  of  this  garrison,  in  uniform, 
they  will  interpret  your  coming  as  a  sign  that  we  are  not 
afraid  of  their  threats.  It  will  mean  that  to  them.  Tell 
the  chiefs  straight  out  the  truth,  and  let  them  under- 
stand that  if  they  want  war,  over  such  a  trivial  thing, 
they  will  be  accommodated.  They  have  no  fear  of  us  as 
soldiers,  understand;  the  men  who  hold  them  in  check 
are  the  Kentucky  *  long  rifles.'  They  know  Brady  and 
his  kind  to  their  sorrow." 

[48] 


A  Perilous  Venture 


"  Then  I  am  to  talk  boldly;  threaten,  if  iiccessary?  " 

"  With  discretion  —  yes.  It  is  our  only  chance  to 
avert  war.  The  scheme  may  not  work,  but  if  it  even 
results  in  delay,  it  will  be  worth  the  effort." 

"When  do  I  start?  " 

"  At  dusk  tonight.  Come  here  first  for  final  instruc- 
tions, and  a  letter  to  Hamilton.  You  will  go  up  the 
Muskingum  to  the  forks  by  boat,  and  then  straight 
through  the  woods.  There  must  be  no  loitering  on  the 
march." 

"  There  will  be  none,  sir ;  and  what  about  Girty  ?  " 

"  I  will  hold  him  on  some  pretext  until  morning. 
Your  party  will  have  fifteen  hours'  start." 

There  seemed  nothing  more,  and,  after  waiting  a 
moment  in  silence,  I  saluted. 

"  Very  well,  sir;  that  is  all?  " 

"  All  at  present." 

I  turned  toward  the  door,  then  hesitated,  as  memory 
suddenly  returned. 

"  Pardon  me,  General,"  I  said  impulsively,  "  but  I 
met  a  young  woman  in  the  room  yonder.  Might  I 
inquire  who  she  may  be  ?  " 


[49] 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  EVE   OF  DEPARTURE 

T  T  E  starod  at  me  with  open  mouth ;  then  laughed. 

The  witch !  I  never  knew  she  was  in  there, 
Hayward,  or  I  should  never  have  exposed  you  to  such 
danger.  A  French  butterfly,  with  eyes  like  stars  —  is 
that  the  lady?  And  how  did  you  get  on?  " 

"  Very  well  indeed,  sir.  We  were  talking  together 
gaily  when  you  came." 

"  My  Gad ;  is  that  so  ?  Why  the  minx  has  hardly 
given  me  a  dozen  civil  words  since  she  arrived.  It 's 
my  gray  hairs  likely,  and  then,  besides,  she  's  met  my 
wife.  Said  she  anything  about  herself?  " 

"  Only  her  name  —  Rene  D'Auvray." 

"  Huh !  that  does  not  sound  much  like  the  one  she 
gave  me,  tho'  by  my  soul,  I  've  forgotten  it,  'twas  just 
as  Frenchified,  and  I  never  dared  to  speak  it  aloud. 
How  came  she  to  tell  you  ?  " 

"  That 's  the  odd  part  of  it,  sir.  She  knew  me,  called 
me  *  Monsieur  Hayward,'  and  insisted  I  would  remem- 
ber her  when  she  named  herself.  Then  she  did,  but 
it  was  no  name  I  ever  heard  before,  nor  have  I  ever 
seen  the  face;  I  'd  swear  to  that." 

[51] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  And  she  is  not  the  sort  to  be  forgotten  easily.  If 
they  raise  such  flowers  in  the  Illinois  country,  I  would 
like  service  there." 

"  She  is  from  the  Illinois  then? "  I  interrupted 
eagerly. 

"  So  I  judge,  although  it  is  little  enough  the  witch 
has  told  me  in  the  three  days  she  's  been  here.  That 
was  the  story  of  the  boatmen  with  whom  she  voyaged 
on  the  river,  although  they  picked  her  up  at  the  Shaw- 
nee  towns.  Is  there  a  French  village  of  Kaskaskia?" 

"  Ay,  where  Clark  fought  in  '78 ;  on  the  big  river." 

"  That  will  be  the  place.  The  tale  is,  as  repeated  by 
the  soldiers  who  talked  with  the  boatmen,  that  she  seeks 
her  father,  who  left  this  Kaskaskia  a  year  since  with 
Vigo,  on  a  journey  up  the  Ohio.  She  stops  at  each 
settlement  to  inquire,  and  the  girl  has  money  —  French 
and  English  gold  in  plenty.  Yet,  if  this  be  the  truth, 
there  is  small  hunting  done.  Once  only  was  she  at  the 
village  for  an  hour ;  nor  has  she  spoken  yet  of  departure. 
She  puzzles  me  with  her  pert  speech,  and  French  talk, 
for  she  pretends  little  understanding  of  English.  But 
that  my  wife  likes  her  I  should  have  sent  the  hussy  on 
her  way  before  now." 

"  But  she  spoke  English  to  me,"  I  admitted.  "  Her 
accent  was  foreign,  yet  she  used  the  tongue." 

"  No  doubt,"  dryly,  "  her  pretense  at  not  compre- 
[52] 


The  Eve  of  Departure 


hending  is  all  play.  I  thought  as  much.  But  for  what 
purpose  I  cannot  conceive.  I  am  decided  the  minx 
shall  go  up  the  river,  or  down,  as  she  may  select,  by  the 
first  boat  that  lands  here.  I  cannot  help  liking  the  lass, 
with  her  laughter,  and  dainty  airs,  but  she  's  up  to  some 
mischief,  I  '11  warrant,  and  St.  Clair  would  send  her 
packing  if  he  was  here." 

"  But  General,"  I  asked,  still  lingering,  "  how  came 
she  to  know  my  name?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  spoke  it  first  in  her  hearing." 
"  Not  I,  sir ;  we  spoke  of  other  matters." 
"  Then  there  is  but  one  answer  —  the  witch  overheard 
our  conversation.     I  spoke  loud,  not  knowing  she  was 
in  the  room,  and  her  quick  ears  caught  the  sound.    'Tis 
like  her  to  make  instant  use  of  what  she  learned  to 
thus  arouse  your  interest.    She  is  full  of  such  sly  tricks. 
No  doubt  that  will  be  the  explanation,  and  no  mystery 
to  it  —  only  the  device  of  a  clever  woman." 

This  seemed  natural  enough,  although  I  confess,  the 
explanation  failed  fully  to  satisfy.  Yet  my  reason 
told  me  it  was  probably  the  truth,  even  while  memory 
gave  picture  to  her  uplifted  face,  and  appealing  eyes, 
It  was  difficult  to  conceive  of  her  in  the  character 
depicted  by  Harmar.  I  had  felt  the  earnestness  of  her 
pleading,  and  then,  bewitched  by  her  girlish  manner, 
I  saw  her  through  the  eyes  of  youth,  unwilling  to  confess 

[53] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


that  I  was  deceived,  or  had  misinterpreted  her  char- 
acter. However,  there  remained  nothing  more  to  say, 
nor  to  ask.  I  could  enter  upon  no  defense,  no  explana- 
tion; I  had  no  knowledge  of  her  purpose,  of  why  she 
was  at  the  fort,  or  why  she  had  pretended  recognition 
of  me  —  only,  in  spite  of  all  evidence,  I  believed  in  her, 
retained  faith  that  her  real  obj  ect  was  a  worthy  one. 

Harmar  sat  motionless,  pondering  over  the  map, 
indifferent  to  my  presence,  his  thought  concentrated  on 
his  responsibilities,  our  conversation  already  forgotten. 

"That  is  all  then,  sir?" 

He  glanced  up,  surprised,  and  recalled  by  the  sound 
of  my  voice. 

"Until  just  before  dusk  —  yes,  Mr.  Hay  ward;  the 
quartermaster  will  arrange  all  details." 

I  passed  out  into  the  sunshine  of  the  afternoon, 
and  crossed  the  deserted  parade  to  my  quarters.  In 
spite  of  the  seriousness  of  this  adventure  upon  which 
I  was  entering  my  thought  lingered  with  the  French 
girl.  Not  only  her  beauty  and  vivacity  —  so  different 
from  all  others  I  had  known  —  but  also  the  strangeness 
of  her  presence,  appealed  to  me  strongly.  Who  could 
she  be?  Why  was  she  there?  What  caused  her  reti- 
cence of  speech?  She  might,  indeed,  be  from  the  distant 
Illinois  country,  for  there  was  that  in  her  dress  which 
spoke  of  wild  life,  of  frontier  training;  yet  to  offset 

[54] 


this  her  language  was  pure,  with  accent  of  education 
apparent  in  every  syllable.  How  softly  musical  her 
voice  was;  how  clear  her  laughter;  how  enchantingly 
the  dimples  appeared  in  either  cheek,  and  with  what 
eloquence  the  dark  eyes  conveyed  their  message. 
"  Rene  D'Auvray,"  the  name  repeated  on  my  lips,  lin- 
gered, and  was  whispered  again.  I  wondered  if  it 
really  was  her  name,  yet  cast  the  doubt  aside  indig- 
nantly. Somehow  it  seemed  to  belong  to  her,  to  typify 
personality,  to  revive  memory.  "  Rene  D'Auvray  " 
would  I  ever  see  her  again?  Would  God  be  good?  I 
glanced  back  at  the  high  window;  the  sun  glared  on 
it,  reflecting  the  rays  into  my  dazzled  eyes.  My  heart 
sank.  I  must  depart  at  dusk,  and  long  ere  I  could 
hope  to  return,  she  would  have  disappeared  into  the 
unknown  wilderness.  Harmar  would  know  nothing 
more  than  he  did  now;  there  would  remain  no  trail  I 
could  hope  to  follow ;  I  would  never  see  her  again. 

For  an  instant  I  hesitated,  rebelling  at  the  duty 
which  took  me  away ;  half  inclined  to  ask  the  assignment 
of  another.  Then  pride,  the  soldier  spirit,  reasserted 
itself,  and  I  strode  forward  to  my  quarters,  forcing 
the  thought  of  her  out  of  my  mind,  angry  at  my  momen- 
tary weakness.  What  was  such  as  she  to  me?  A  mere 
waif  of  the  woods,  winning  passage  by  virtue  of  a 
pretty  face,  and  sprightly  tongue.  Here  today  and 

[55] 


The  MM  of  the  Forest 


gone  tomorrow,  a  forest  foundling,  unworthy  the  mem- 
ory of  an  honest  man.  I  would  do  my  work,  and  forget, 
and  swore  between  my  teeth  at  the  resolve. 

All  this  was  years  ago,  long  years,  and  yet  I  recall 
still  how  I  occupied  those  hours  with  preparation, 
striving  manfully  to  banish  her  from  mind  by  ceaseless 
labor.  Little  by  little  I  grasped  the  seriousness  of  this 
mission  on  which  I  was  embarked.  In  a  measure  I  was 
frontier  born  and  bred,  and  had  ranged  the  woods  since 
I  became  strong  enough  to  bear  a  gun.  There  were 
few  secrets  of  the  wilderness  I  did  not  know,  yet  now 
for  the  first  time  I  was  to  penetrate  those  dark  northern 
forests,  through  untracked  leagues,  and  front  the  red 
savages  at  their  council  fire  with  a  message  of  defiance. 
The  full  extent  of  peril  involved  occurred  to  me  sud- 
denly, almost  with  a  shock  —  the  raiding  parties  of 
young  warriors,  scouring  the  woods,  unrestrained  in 
their  savagery,  the  uncertainty  of  our  reception  by 
the  Wyandots,  the  possibility  that  Hamilton  might 
not  be  there  to  protect  from  violence,  the  haunting 
doubt  whether  our  mission  would  save  us  from  torture 
and  death  at  the  hands  of  those  red  demons  bent  madly 
on  war!  It  was  no  pleasant  picture  painted  on  the 
canvas  of  imagination,  and  the  perspiration  beaded  my 
temples,  as  frontier  tales  of  Indian  atrocity  flashed  to 
memory.  But  mine  was  then  the  spirit  of  youth,  of 

[56] 


The  Eve  of  Departure 


daring;  I  had  volunteered  for  this  duty,  and,  under 
God,  would  not  fail. 

I  recall  changing  my  clothes,  putting  on  my  rough 
hunting  suit,  and  packing  my  uniform  in  a  bag.  I 
remember  studying  a  French  map,  hung  on  the  walls  of 
the  barracks,  giving  rude  outline  of  the  country  to  be 
traversed,  and  copying,  as  best  I  might,  the  water- 
courses along  the  route,  and  marking  off  the  estimated 
distances  from  stream  to  stream.  Then  I  sought  out 
Brady,  finding  him  alone  outside  the  stockade,  lying  on 
the  bluff  summit,  gazing  out  at  the  broad  river  below. 
As  I  drew  near  he  looked  up  at  me,  good  humor  in  his 
gray  eyes,  but  making  no  effort  to  change  his  posture. 

"  Well,  my  young  cockerel,"  he  said  carelessly,  "  they 
tell  me  you  and  I  are  to  be  comrades  on  the  long  trail." 

"  Who  told  you  ?     General  Harmar  ?  " 

"  No  less ;  maybe  an  hour  ago.  'Tis  not  likely  to 
prove  a  pleasant  task,  as  I  understand  the  nature  of 
the  message.  What  said  the  old  man  to  you?  " 

He  sat  up  as  I  repeated  word  by  word  our  con- 
versation, and  I  studied  the  appearance  of  the  man 
seriously  for  the  first  time.  He  was  of  the  mountain 
backwoods  type,  gray  bearded,  gaunt  but  strong,  his 
hands  sinewy,  his  lean,  tall  figure  muscular,  and  vigor- 
ous ;  of  middle  age,  firm  lips,  sober  eyes,  intelligent  face, 
bronzed  to  the  color  of  leather,  and  long  hair,  already 

[57] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


tinged  with  gray.  A  lifetime  of  danger  and  solitude 
had  left  indelible  stamp  upon  him;  I  recognized  him  as 
one  who  would  speak  but  little,  yet  act  instantly ;  a  man 
of  resource,  daring;  loving  adventure,  hating  with 
border  intensity,  yet  perchance,  as  tender  hearted  as 
a  child.  He  listened  intently  until  I  finished,  his  eyes 
on  the  dark  woods  bordering  the  settlement. 

"  About  as  I  had  it,"  he  commented  gravely,  "  only 
a  bit  more  of  detail.  No  pleasant  job,  friend,  but  the 
'  old  man  '  is  right  —  there  is  no  other  way  to  deal  with 
redskins.  What  was  the  name  of  that  Wyandot  medi- 
cine man?  " 

"  We-pa-tee-tah." 

"  1 've  heard  the  name  before,  but  don't  remember 
where.  I  never  met  up  against  the  Wyandots,  save  a 
few  at  Vincennes ;  their  range  is  too  far  north.  By  any 
chance  do  you  know  that  country  ?  " 

"  Not  beyond  the  forks.  Here  are  some  maps,"  and 
I  spread  my  rude  drawings  on  the  grass,  "  and  some 
notes  on  the  lay  of  the  land." 

He  studied  these  a  moment,  and  then  glanced  up  at 
me  with  a  quizzical  smile. 

"  Never  could  make  much  outer  map  drawin',"  he 
acknowledged  slowly.  "  Just  looks  like  hen  tracks  ter 
me,  an'  as  to  readin*  I  reckon  ther  want  no  schools 
along  Stump  Crick  wher  I  was  raised.  Howsomever 

[58] 


The  Eve  of  Departure 


you  need  n't  worry  none  about  that,  Master  Hayward, 
for  I  kin  read  the  woods,  an*  natur'  the  best  guide. 
We  '11  find  Sandusky." 

We  talked  together  for  some  time,  although  I  did 
the  most  of  it,  for  he  was  content  to  reply  in  mono- 
syllables, his  eyes  on  the  river.  As  the  sun  sank,  its 
last  rays  turning  the  waters  crimson,  we  went  back  into 
the  stockade,  and  ate  heartily  together  in  the  barracks' 
kitchen.  Then,  as  dusk  drew  near,  we  separated,  he 
going  silently  down  the  bluff  to  the  boat,  while  I  re- 
ported to  General  Harmar. 

It  was  almost  dark,  with  a  clear,  star-studded  sky 
overhead,  when  I  came  forth  again,  the  letter  to  Ham- 
ilton in  my  pocket,  and  the  General's  warning  instruc- 
tions fresh  in  mind.  He  shook  hands  with  me  at  the 
door,  and  I  turned  away  cheerfully  enough,  rifle  across 
my  shoulder,  and  the  pack  in  my  hand.  I  had  caught 
no  further  glimpse  of  the  girl,  nor  had  any  reference 
been  made  to  her.  In  truth,  for  the  moment,  the  mem- 
ory of  her  presence  had  been  banished  from  mind.  I 
had  convinced  myself  of  her  unworthiness,  of  the  small 
chance  of  ever  seeing  her  again,  and  concentrated  my 
thought  on  the  adventure  in  hand.  God  knows,  I 
realized  that  it  was  serious  enough  to  require  every 
attention.  Harmar's  final  words  of  instruction  had 
brought  this  home  anew,  and  I  strode  through  the  dark- 

[59] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


ness  toward  the  barred  gate,  oblivious  to  all  else  except 
my  duty.  Then,  all  at  once,  she  came  to  me,  a  slender 
shadow  stepping  forth  from  the  gloom  of  the  stockade, 
into  the  star  gleam.  I  saw  the  face  uplifted,  white  in 
the  silvery  glow,  and  the  dark  uncovered  hair. 

"  Monsieur  Hayward,"  she  said  softly,  "  you  will 
speak  to  me  ?  " 


CHAPTER  VII 

I   FACE   A   REQUEST 

T  CAME  to  a  sudden  halt,  my  heart  throbbing  wildly. 
"  Most  certainly,  Mademoiselle,"  I  stammered  in 
surprise,  "  although  I  have  little  time  to  spare." 

I  could  see  her  features  clearly  enough  in  that  star- 
shine,  and  somehow,  as  I  looked,  every  dim  suspicion 
vanished.  I  could  not  gaze  into  those  uplifted  eyes 
and  think  evil.  Whatever  might  be  the  mystery  sur- 
rounding her  she  was  no  sport  of  the  woods,  no  wilder- 
ness plaything.  Behind  the  girlish  beauty  of  that  face 
dwelt  strength  and  character  —  something  which  re- 
strained. Even  then,  as  I  dropped  my  bundle,  and  low- 
ered my  rifle,  I  could  not  touch  her ;  dared  not  venture 
such  familiarity.  Some  invisible  power  held  her  invio- 
late, held  me  motionless,  unnerved. 

"  I  know,"  she  returned ;  waiting  to  be  assured  I 
meant  to  say  no  more,  "  you  voyage  into  the  North  — 
you,  and  the  great  hunter." 

"  You  know  that?    How?  " 

She  smiled,  yet  with  eyes  on  mine  in  frank  confi- 
dence. 

"Have  I  not  ears,  Monsieur?"  she  asked  swiftly. 
[61] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


61  Did  you  think  me  old  and  deaf  when  we  met  before  ? 
Perhaps  the  light  was  poor,  and  you  saw  ill ;  if  so  look 
at  me  again,  now,  Monsieur." 

"  You  mean  you  overheard  ?  "  and  I  stepped  back, 
tantalized  by  her  witchery. 

"  How  could  I  help  ?  It  was  but  a  word  now  and 
then,  but  that  Americain  general  he  talk  so  loud,  like 
he  speak  to  an  army.  I  did  not  catch  your  voice,  Mon- 
sieur, not  one  word.  Yet  I  knew  well  what  eet  was  you 
say :  I  know  from  my  own  heart,  how  eet  beat ;  an'  from 
your  face,  so  strong,  so  like  the  face  of  a  man.  You 
would  go  back  to  the  North,  back  to  my  people." 

"  To  your  people !  "  I  echoed  incredulously.  "  Good 
God !  Are  you  Indian  ?  " 

"  Does  Monsieur  care  what  I  am  ?  "  she  questioned 
more  gravely.  "  And  does  he  not  already  know  ?  We 
are  alone  here  in  the  night,"  her  eyes  deserting  mine  to 
sweep  a  swift  glance  about  over  the  bare  level  of  parade. 
"  Need  there  longer  be  deceit  between  us  ?  Why  you 
not  trust  me?  " 

"  I  do  trust  you,"  I  returned  impetuously,  intoxi- 
cated by  her  presence,  by  the  pressure  of  her  fingers 
on  my  arm.  "  In  spite  of  all  that  is  strange  I  cannot 
pretend  otherwise.  But  I  do  not  know  you,  as  you 
would  pretend." 

"  Yet  I  know  you,  Monsieur." 
[62] 


I  Face  a  Request 


"  So  it  would  seem ;  at  least  you  spoke  my  name  as 
if  from  memory." 

"  It  was  from  memory ;  yet  you  forget  me  ?  My 
name?  My  face  also?  I  cannot  think  this  so.  Have 
you  so  soon  blotted  out  the  Miami  council  at  Three 
Rivers,  Monsieur  Hayward?  " 

"  I  was  not  there,"  I  answered  stoutly.  "  It  was 
held  with  the  English  officers  of  Detroit." 

She  stared  into  my  face,  her  dark  eyes  wide  open. 
Then  she  laughed  softly. 

"  You  think  to  fool  me !  All  right ;  I  laugh,  an'  I 
pretend,  but  I  never  believe  what  you  tell.  Have  I  not 
eyes  to  see  your  face?  ears  to  hear  your  voice?  'Tis 
not  long  ago,  only  six  moons  since  then.  Why  all  this 
I  not  understand,  maybe;  why  you  English  officer 
today  an*  Americaine  officer  tomorrow.  You  not  tell; 
I  not  ask  any  more.  We  be  friends  just  the  same? 
Ees  that  so?" 

"  With  all  my  heart,"  I  replied,  relieved  at  the  sud- 
den change  in  her  manner,  and  grasping  the  hand  held 
out.  "  But  you  are  wrong  in  thinking  I  assume  two 
characters." 

"Yes;  well,  did  I  not  say  I  laugh  an'  pretend? 
Voila!  eet  was  to  me  nothing.  Yet  there  is  danger, 
Monsieur,  much  danger.  Indian  never  forgive,  nevaire 
forget.  You  go  as  hunter,  as  scout?" 

[63] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  No,  as  an  officer ;  my  uniform  is  in  this  bag." 

"To  the  Miamis?" 

I  shook  my  head,  wondering  at  her  swift  questioning. 

"  The  Wyandots." 

"Ah!  that  then  is  not  so  bad.  The  chiefs  will  not 
know;  they  will  believe.  But  'tis  most  odd  why  you 
will  do  all  this  —  this,  what  you  call  masquerade?  " 

"  No  more  odd  surely  than  your  own,  Mademoiselle." 

"  Why  is  eet  you  say  that  ?  You  ask  the  Generail 
about  me?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  You  care  enough  then  ?  you  interest  enough  to  ask 
heem  who  I  was?  Where  I  come?  You  try  learn  all 
about  me?  Ah,  bien!  an*  what  he  say,  Monsieur?  " 

"  That  you  were  from  the  Illinois  country  —  Kas- 
kaskia  —  seeking  your  father  a  voyageur  with  Vigo, 
from  town  to  town." 

She  laughed  again,  her  hands  making  an  eloquent 
gesture. 

"  The  poor  man !  Eet  was  quite  sad,  Monsieur.  I 
know  not  I  top  eet  so  well.  Non,  non,  eet  not  I  who 
told  heem;  eet  was  the  voyageurs  with  whom  I  came. 
I  tell  nothing.  Eet  was  hard  to  tell  nothin',  Monsieur, 
when  he  want  to  know  so  much;  when  he  ask  question, 
an'  roar  in  hees  loud  voice.  But  eet  was  fun,  too;  I 
laugh,  an*  talk  about  ozzer  things,  an'  he  get  so  mad, 

[64] 


ze  Americain  Gcnerail.     He  put  me  in  ze  guard-house, 
only  I  was  a  girl." 

I  had  to  smile  myself,  reflecting  the  enjoyment  of 
the  uplifted  face,  the  picture  arising  before  me  of  Har- 
mar's  discomfiture  sparring  with  her  quick  wit. 

"  But,  Mademoiselle ;  if  that  was  not  the  true  story, 
why  should  you  not  tell?  " 

She  shook  her  head,  the  dark  hair  like  a  cloud. 

"  Why  should  I  ?  He  would  not  believe  —  that  man. 
I  could  not  prove  to  heem  what  I  say.  So  what  ze  use?  " 

"And  you  are  not  from  Kaskaskia?  Not  seeking 
your  father?  " 

"Why  you  ask  that?  You  still  pretend  you  not 
know,  Monsieur  Hay  ward?  " 

Her  persistence  in  claiming  former  acquaintance 
angered  me  for  the  instant.  It  revived  my  old  suspicion, 
made  me  wonder,  and  caused  me  to  answer  roughly. 

"  Let  us  drop  that,"  I  said  sternly.  "  I  never  saw 
you  until  three  hours  ago,  but  you  surely  have  some 
object  in  stopping  me  here.  Tell  me  what  it  is,  and 
have  done  with  the  play.  I  am  not  a  child  to  be  amused 
with  fairy  tales,  and  there  are  others  waiting  me." 

"  You  are  angry  ?  " 

"  No,"  hesitating,  sorry  already  at  my  rude  speech, 
as  I  looked  down  into  her  eyes.  "  But  I  am  a  soldier 
on  duty;  under  orders  to  the  North." 

[65] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  To  my  people." 

"  So  you  said  before.  What  does  it  mean?  You  are 
not  Indian  ?  " 

I  was  conscious  I  asked  the  question  with  a  choking 
throat,  a  vague  dread  of  her  answer.  There  was  no 
apparent  reason  why  I  should  care,  and  yet,  deep  in  my 
heart,  I  did.  It  seemed  to  me  she  waited  long,  the 
silence  oppressive,  before  her  lips  answered. 

"And  if  I  am,  Monsieur?  Will  you  not  be  my 
friend?" 

My  heart  sank,  yet  I  managed  to  smile. 

"  I  would  serve  you,  of  course,  in  every  way  possible. 
That  would  make  no  difference." 

"  Oh,  yes  it  would ;  your  face  told  that.  To  you 
Indian  blood  is  a  disgrace,  a  symbol  of  savagery." 

"  I  have  the  prejudice  of  a  borderer,"  I  acknowl- 
edged, "  and  prefer  my  own  people." 

She  looked  at  me  steadily,  her  breath  coming  swiftly. 

"  So  do  I,  Monsieur,"  defiantly.  "  And  I  am  not  of 
your  people."  Her  head  went  up  proudly.  "  I  am 
French  and  Indian.  You  must  take  me  as  I  am,  or  not 
at  all.  I  will  not  lie  to  you,  and,  whatever  my  blood 
may  be,  I  am  a  woman." 

"  Your  father  was  French  ?  "  I  stammered,  shamed 
by  her  words.  "  You  bear  his  name  —  D'Auvray  ?  " 

**  I  am  of  quarter  blood ;  my  father  was  officer  of 
[63} 


I  Face  a  Request 


France  who  died  in  battle.  I  was  born  in  an  Indian 
tepee." 

"  But  not  brought  up  an  Indian  ?  You  possess  edu- 
cation ;  you  have  known  civilized  life." 

"  I  have  been  at  Montreal  and  Quebec,  Monsieur.  I 
was  three  years  at  the  convent  of  the  Ursulines." 

"  But  came  back  into  the  wilderness  ?  " 

"  I  returned  —  to  my  own  people ;  the  great  woods 
called  me." 

I  could  scarcely  realize  it,  looking  into  her  face, 
listening  to  the  soft  tones  of  her  voice.  Indian !  my 
whole  conception  of  the  race  had  been  associated  with 
cruelty,  ruthless  barbarity.  Hatred  for  the  red  ma- 
rauders of  the  border  had  been  instilled  into  me  almost 
from  infancy.  The  wild  stories  of  the  frontier,  as  well 
as  my  own  experience,  had  only  served  to  fan  the  fires. 
They  were  to  me  enemies  to  be  fought  and  destroyed. 
Yet  here  before  me  stood  a  slender  girl,  with  eyes  shin- 
ing in  the  star-light ;  with  gentle  voice ;  pleasing  even 
in  its  defiance,  bearing  herself  proudly,  her  face  fair 
to  look  upon,  her  language  that  of  refinement  —  and 
an  Indian !  I  did  not  doubt,  or  question ;  I  realized  she 
would  never  have  told  me  this  had  it  been  untrue.  But 
the  suddenly  acquired  knowledge  of  this  barrier  of 
race  between  us  held  me  speechless. 

"You  do  not  like  me  now?  "  she  questioned,  almost 
[67] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


timidly.     "  What  I  have  confessed  has  changed  your 
interest?  " 

"  No,  it  is  not  that,"  I  replied,  ashamed  of  my  own 
hesitancy.  "  Only  it  is  difficult  to  break  away  from 
old  prejudices,  and  —  and  —  why,  I  cannot  realize  even 
yet  that  you  are  actually  of  Indian  blood ;  that  —  that 
you  belong  to  the  wild  tribes,  those  that  we  war  against. 
You  do,  do  you  not?  " 

"  I  am  a  Wyandot." 

"And  here  at  Fort  Harmar,  under  a  false  name, 
pretending  to  be  from  the  French  settlements  ?  " 

She  touched  my  hands,  where  they  gripped  the  rifle 
barrel,  and  her  whole  manner  changed. 

"  I  am  not  here  under  a  false  name,  Monsieur,  nor  for 
any  purpose  of  evil,"  she  exclaimed  eagerly.  "  You 
must  not  think  that  of  me ;  I  will  not  permit.  ?T  is 
my  name,  Rene  D'Auvray,  and  I  came  to  this  fort  from 
the  French  settlements.  I  cannot  tell  you  why,  but 
there  is  no  harm  done.  All  I  seek  now  is  the  oppor- 
tunity to  return  to  my  own  land.  That  is  why  I  came 
here  to  meet  you ;  why  I  waylaid  you,  and  told  you  the 
truth.  I  heard  enough  of  what  was  said  by  the  Amer- 
icain  generail  to  know  that  you  were  going  north  thro* 
the  forests  to  my  country,  to  hold  council  with  the 
Wyandots.  That  is  so,  is  eet  not?  " 

"Yes." 

[68] 


I  Face  a  Request 


"Then,  Monsieur,  take  me  with  you!  No,  listen; 
you  must;  you  shall  not  refuse.  I  know  the  way,  the 
woods,  and  all  their  secrets.  I  can  guide  you,  and 
travel  faster  than  your  Kentucky  hunter.  Let  me  go, 
Monsieur." 


[69] 


CHAPTER  VIII 

UP  THE   MUSKINGUM 

T  HESITATED  just  a  moment,  actually  tempted  by 
this  opportunity  to  have  her  with  me,  to  learn 
more  of  who  and  what  she  really  was.  Yet  the  knowl- 
edge that  Harmar  would  never  approve  of  such  an  ar- 
rangement, and  that  he  would  surely  learn  of  the  matter 
if  I  smuggled  her  into  the  boat,  decided  me.  She  read 
the  decision  in  my  face. 

"  You  will  not  ?    You  will  leave  me  behind  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  choice,"  I  answered  gently.  "  You  for- 
get ;  I  am  a  soldier  under  orders.  To  take  you  with  me 
might  peril  the  whole  venture." 

"  Peril  it !  No ;  it  would  save  it.  It  is  for  your  saKe 
as  much  as  my  own  I  would  go.  Have  you  forgotten 
I  am  a  Wyandot?  " 

"  Nevertheless    I    cannot   take    you,    Mademoiselle. 
There  are  reasons  in  plenty,  but  I  cannot  stand  here 
and  discuss  them.     You  will  let  me  pass  now  ?  " 

She  drew  back,  but  with  eyes  still  on  my  face.  She 
must  have  read  there  that  no  pleading  would  change 
me,  for  she  only  said  regretfully: 

"  I  have  angered  you?  You  do  not  trust  me,  because 
I  am  Indian?  " 

[71] 


The  Mead  of  the  Forest 


"  I  do  trust  you,"  I  burst  forth.  "  I  hardly  know 
why,  but  I  do.  It  is  hard  for  me  to  say  no,  but  I  must. 
I  wish  to  remain  your  friend,  Mademoiselle,  to  —  to 
meet  you  again  somewhere." 

Her  face,  white  in  the  star-shine,  smiled. 

"  You  shall,  Monsieur,"  confidently,  and  she  pointed 
with  one  hand  into  the  North,  "  yonder  in  the  villages 
of  the  Wyandots." 

"  You  mean  you  will  go  there  alone  ?  all  those  leagues 
alone?" 

"  Perhaps ;  there  would  be  nothing  to  fear.  I  have 
traveled  as  long  a  wilderness  trail  before.  Yet  I  need 
not  go  alone ;  there  is  another  here  who  must  return  to 
Sandusky." 

"  Simon  Girty !  Good  God !  Would  you  dream  of 
companioning  with  that  foul  renegade?  Do  you  know 
what  he  is  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,"  quietly  >  "  and  he  knows  what  I  am. 
He  is  not  reckless  enough  to  offer  me  insult;  did  he  do 
so  he  would  be  torn  limb  from  limb.  You  do  not  know 
my  people,  but  Simon  Girty  does.  I  do  not  fear  him, 
yet  I  would  rather  go  with  you." 

"  I  cannot  consent ;  it  would  cost  me  my  commission 
to  take  you.  I  must  say  good-by." 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Good-by,  Monsieur." 

[72] 


Up  the  Muskingum 


I  left  her  standing  there,  a  slender,  dark  shadow  in 
the  star-light,  feeling  yet  the  firm  grip  of  her  fingers, 
and  seeing  yet  in  memory  the  upturned  face.  That 
she  really  meant  what  she  said  so  confidently  I  did  not 
truly  believe.  Her  threat  of  traveling  in  company  with 
Girty,  or  even  alone,  was  merely  uttered  in  the  vague 
hope  that  it  might  influence  me.  She  could  not  be  in 
earnest.  In  spite  of  her  assertion  I  was  not  altogether 
convinced  that  she  was  an  Indian,  a  Wyandot.  She 
was  so  young,  so  girlish,  so  soft  of  voice  and  civilized 
of  speech,  I  could  not  associate  her  with  savages,  or 
those  dark,  haunted  woods.  I  even  laughed  grimly  to 
myself,  as  I  went  down  the  bluff,  at  the  thought.  She  had 
endeavored  to  deceive  me,  to  win  me  over  to  some  mad 
scheme.  Her  earlier  claim  that  she  knew  me  had  failed, 
and  so  she  had  attempted  another  scheme  of  escape. 
Her  pretended  acquaintance  with  Girty  was  doubtless 
of  the  same  character.  But  what  could  be  the  cause  of 
all  these  efforts  to  get  safely  away  from  Fort  Harmar? 
Who  was  the  girl?  Why  had  she  come  there?  I 
stopped,  half  way  down  and  glanced  back  at  the  dim 
outline  of  the  log  stockade,  tempted  to  return,  and  com- 
pel an  answer.  Yet  that  was  the  General's  business,  not 
mine;  I  was  out  of  it  altogether.  I  had  made  my  deci- 
sion, and  left  her  behind.  'T  was  not  likely  I  should  ever 
see  her  again,  and  at  that  moment  I  was  not  sorry.  De- 

[73] 


The  Moid  of  the  Forest 


spite  a  pretty  face,  and  much  else  that  appealed  to  me, 
it  would  be  best  to  forget.  She  had  a  double  tongue,  and 
was  unworthy  to  be  remembered.  I  swore  to  myself, 
and  went  on  down  the  steep  bluff,  angered  at  my  own 
weakness. 

The  boat  was  in  the  dark  shadows  of  the  bank,  a 
sizable  canoe,  three  Indians  —  friendly  Delawares  — 
grasping  the  paddles  and  kneeling  in  the  bottom,  and 
two  men  holding  it  steady  against  the  current.  One 
of  these,  tall  and  straight,  would  be  Brady,  but  the 
other,  a  mere  shadow  in  the  dark,  was  unrecognizable. 

"  You  go  with  us  ?  "  I  asked. 

He  straightened  up,  with  the  motion  of  a  salute. 

"  Yah,  der  captain  he  says  so,  don't  id?  "  the  words 
strongly  Dutch. 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  man ;  you  are  the  cook.  Is  there  an 
extra  paddle  in  there,  boys  ?  " 

An  Indian  voice  grunted  a  response,  holding  it  up. 

"  All  right ;  take  it,  and  get  in.  What  is  your 
name  ?  " 

"  Johann  Schultz." 

I  remembered  him,  a  private  in  Brown's  company,  as 
poor  a  choice  as  could  have  been  made  for  such  an  expe- 
dition, but  it  was  too  late  now  for  an  exchange. 

"  In  with  you,  Schultz,"  I  ordered  sharply,  "  behind 
the  last  Indian,  and  bend  your  back;  this  is  to  be  no 

[74] 


Up  the  Muskingum 


pleasure      trip      after      wild      flowers.       All      ready,] 
Brady?" 

He  stepped  into  the  bow  of  the  craft,  without  an- 
swering, and  crouched  down,  his  long  rifle  showing 
above  his  shoulder.  I  pushed  off,  and  found  room  at 
the  stern.  There  was  a  flash  of  paddles  in  the  dark 
water,  and,  almost  noiselessly,  we  swept  out  into  the 
stream.  My  eyes  glanced  up  the  face  of  the  bluff,  to 
where  the  shadow  of  the  stockade  appeared  dimly  out- 
lined against  the  sky.  Not  a  light  was  visible,  not 
a  sound  heard.  Then  we  rounded  the  bend  in  the  bank, 
the  water  ahead  shimmering  in  the  star-gleam.  The 
paddles  rose  and  fell  in  long  quiet  sweeps,  the  narrow 
canoe  leaping  forward  against  the  downward  flow  of 
the  stream.  In  response  to  a  low  spoken  order,  we 
skirted  the  eastern  shore,  in  the  deeper  shadow,  barely 
beyond  the  bushes  upon  the  bank.  There  was  little 
to  be  seen  of  Marietta,  only  the  shapeless  smudge  of  a 
few  log  houses  beside  the  river,  already  dark,  although 
the  night  was  young.  Distant  voices,  and  the  wailing 
sound  of  a  violin,  reached  our  ears,  but  the  canoe  slipped 
by  unseen.  For  the  space  of  a  mile,  perhaps,  we  skirted 
the  clearing,  the  river  a  stream  of  silver  under  the  stars, 
the  land  on  either  side,  disfigured  by  blackened  tree 
stumps,  making  a  desolate  picture.  Then  the  canoe 
slipped  silently  into  the  forest  waterway,  the  dense 

[75] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


woods  on  either  bank  obscuring  the  stars,  and  plunging 
us  into  darkness.  Brady  bent  over  the  sharp  bow,  his 
eyes  watchful  for  any  obstacle,  for  any  swirl  of  the 
current,  and  I  could  faintly  distinguish  his  voice  in 
low-spoken  warning  to  the  Indian  paddlers. 

From  where  I  rested  in  the  stern,  my  rifle  between 
my  knees,  I  could  perceive  little  except  the  broad  back 
of  the  Dutchman  toiling  manfully  at  the  after-paddle. 
I  could  watch  the  mechanical  lift  of  his  arms,  the  flash 
of  water  following  his  strong  stroke,  his  quick  recovery 
in  unison  with  the  others.  The  remainder  of  the  boat 
was  but  a  blur,  the  banks  on  either  side  meaningless 
shadows  of  thick  foliage.  A  grim  silence  brooded  over 
all,  not  so  much  as  a  leaf  rustling,  the  sharp  stem  of  the 
canoe  barely  rippling  the  water.  Occasionally,  sounding 
clear  in  the  still  night,  some  prowling  beast  of  the  jungle 
rustled  its  way  through  the  underbrush,  and  once, 
rounding  a  sharp  turn  in  the  bank,  I  saw  two  eyes, 
like  balls  of  fire,  glaring  at  us  from  the  depths  of  a 
thicket.  The  loneliness,  the  darkness,  the  mechanical 
movements  of  those  stolid  paddlers,  sent  my  mind  drift- 
ing this  way  and  that. 

At  first  it  was  my  task  to  be  thought  out,  and  planned 
anew.  The  old  French  map  was  fresh  in  my  memory, 
and  I  could  trace  our  progress  across  rivers  and  through 
forests,  calculating  distances,  and  choosing  sites  upon 

[76] 


Up  the  Muskingum 


which  to  make  camp.  Then  I  reviewed  again  Harmar's 
instructions,  and  words  of  warning,  together  with 
Brady's  suggestions,  yet  felt  in  no  way  alarmed  as  to 
our  success.  The  gloomy  night,  the  grimness  of  the 
black  forest  had  effect  on  me  no  doubt,  yet  I  was  not 
aware  of  any  fear,  any  shrinking  of  the  heart.  My 
mission  was  to  a  tribe  still  at  peace,  who  only  needed 
to  be  assured  that  we  were  also  friendly.  The  danger 
did  not  lie  with  the  Wyandots,  but  with  those  stray 
raiding  parties  from  other  hostile  tribes  whom  we  might 
encounter  by  chance  along  the  way.  The  Wyandots! 
the  recurrence  of  that  name  brought  back  instantly  a 
recollection  of  the  young  girl  just  left  behind  at  Fort 
Harmar.  I  endeavored  to  cast  the  memory  aside,  to 
think  of  other  things,  yet  she  would  not  leave  me,  re- 
fused to  be  blotted  out.  At  last  I  surrendered  to  her 
presence,  seeing  again  her  face  in  the  darkness,  and 
listening  to  the  soft  caress  of  her  voice.  I  was  not  by 
nature  a  dreamer,  and  had  ever  been  slow  to  make  new 
friendships.  Yet  I  could  not  drive  from  me  a  dull  faith 
that  we  were  destined  to  meet  again.  I  even  hoped. 
There  was  no  lingering  indifference  in  my  heart;  how- 
ever I  might  condemn  myself  for  a  fool  thus  to  hold 
her  in  memory.  I  could  not  break  away.  I  suspected 
everything  —  that  she  was  a  light-o'-love,  an  adven- 
turess, one  unworthy  serious  thought.  She  had  de- 

[77] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


ceived  Harmar,  and  attempted  to  deceive  me,  to  make 
me  her  dupe.  That  she  was  really  French  and  a  daugh- 
ter of  the  frontier,  was  beyond  question,  but  I  hesitated 
to  believe  the  rest  —  that  she  was  also  Indian.  There 
was  no  testimony  to  this  in  either  face  or  manner. 
Someway  I  cast  the  possibility  from  me,  as  though  it 
were  a  thing  accurst.  I  would  not  believe  that,  even  if 
she  swore  to  it.  I  recalled  the  clear  cheeks  flushed  with 
health,  the  slender,  agile  form,  the  dark  hair  and  eyes, 
the  soft  voice  with  laughter  rippling  in  it,  and  could 
not  connect  her  with  wigwam  and  council  fire.  A  squaw  !: 
a  Wyandot!  I  laughed  the  thought  away  indignantly, 
yet  angry  at  the  remembrance  that  she  had  actually  tried 
to  make  me  believe  so.  And  why?  So  I  would  take  her 
with  me,  of  course.  Yet,  if  it  were  not  true,  what  reason 
could  she  have  for  desiring  to  go?  To  be  sure  the 
French  settlers  of  the  Illinois  country,  and  Vincennes 
as  well,  were  hand  in  glove  with  the  savages.  No  doubt 
she  would  feel  safe  there,  perhaps  had  friends,  for,  it 
was  well  known,  there  were  Frenchmen  in  every  tribe  — 
squaw-men,  scarcely  less  barbarian  than  the  red-skins 
among  whom  they  lived.  I  had  heard  of  such  again  and 
again  with  war  parties,  heartless  as  the  most  ruthless 
raiders,  and  occasionally  leaders  of  the  murderous, 
thieving  bands.  It  was  hard  to  associate  her  with  such 
renegades,  yet  this  explanation  was  far  more  likely 

[78] 


Up  the  M us  Icing  um 


than  that  she  was  herself  of  Indian  blood.  Indeed  she 
might  know  such  in  friendship  —  have  met  them  inno- 
cently enough  at  Vincennes  or  Kaskaskia  —  and  yet  not 
be  contaminated.  They  were  simply  her  people,  hunters 
and  traders,  making  their  homes  in  Indian  camps,  but 
otherwise  respectable  enough.  And  what  more  natural 
than  that  she  should  seek  them?  No  matter  the  reason 
for  her  being  at  Fort  Harmar;  her  one  object  now  was 
to  get  away,  and  it  mattered  little  whether  the  escape 
was  made  down  the  river,  or  through  the  woods.  In 
either  direction  were  friends  —  her  own  people. 

Convinced  this  must  be  the  explanation,  this  the  real 
key  to  her  strange  conduct,  I  lay  there,  staring  at  the 
dark  forest  slipping  silently  past,  and  listened  again 
to  every  word  she  had  spoken,  recalled  every  expres- 
sion of  her  eyes  as  they  met  mine.  Slowly  it  dawned  upon 
my  consciousness  that  she  was  more  to  me  already  than 
any  woman  before  had  ever  been.  I  felt  a  fierce  longing 
to  turn  back,  to  find  her  again,  to  force  her  to  confess 
the  whole  truth  with  her  own  lips.  I  had  to  struggle 
with  myself  to  remain  silent.  No !  my  duty  lay  to  the 
northward;  the  lives  of  hundreds  of  innocent  women 
and  children  depended  on  my  mission.  Whether  or 
not  the  swing  of  events  ever  brought  us  together  again, 
now  I  must  forget,  and  go  on.  Yet  my  feeling  was  not 
wholly  one  of  despair;  something  seemed  to  assure  me 

[79] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


that  out  of  that  wide  sweep  of  wilderness  we  would  find 
each  other  again;  that  destiny  never  meant  to  keep  us 
apart.  Her  threat  to  go  with  Girty  impressed  me  not 
at  all ;  if  I  even  recalled  it,  it  was  only  to  be  as  quickly 
forgotten.  I  could  not,  would  not,  associate  the  two 
together.  But  I  meant  to  find  her,  for  she  could  not 
disappear  utterly,  and  I  repeated  over  and  over  again, 
"  Rene  D'Auvray." 

It  was  a  boy's  dream,  perhaps,  yet  companioned 
with  me  all  through  the  long  hours  of  the  night.  Only 
as  the  gray  dawn  brightened  the  east,  yielding  form  to 
the  forest  shrouded  banks,  did  I  again  arouse  myself  to 
a  realization  of  where  we  were,  and  the  perils  of  our 
journey. 


[80] 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   INDIAN    COUNTRY 

rTIHE  paddlcrs  were  still  steadily  at  their  task,  the 
Indians  keeping  their  tireless  stroke,  but  the 
soldier  plainly  exhibiting  evidence  of  fatigue.  Brady 
sat  silent  in  the  bow,  his  eyes  on  the  water  ahead.  We 
were  hemmed  in  by  wilderness,  the  narrow  stream 
bordered  by  great  forest  trees,  with  branches  over- 
hanging the  current,  and  huge  roots  projecting  from  the 
mossy  banks. 

There  was  little  or  no  underbrush;  indeed,  as  the 
light  grew  stronger,  the  vista  stretched  far  away  be- 
tween the  gnarled  trunks  of  oak  and  hickory  to  where 
the  land  rose  in  low  bluff.  It  was  a  sombre  scene  of 
gray  and  green  coloring,  save  that  here  and  there  were 
clusters  of  wild  flowers  yielding  a  brighter  hue  of  blue 
and  yellow  to  the  dull  background.  The  silence  was 
profound,  the  river  noiseless,  except  as  the  waters  oc- 
casionally foamed  over  some  obstacle  in  their  path,  or 
murmured  softly  about  the  sharp  prow  of  the  canoe. 
High  up  above  the  early  morning  air  fluttered  the 
leaves,  yet  so  gently  that  no  sound  of  rustling  reached 
me.  The  woods  themselves  were  desolate,  apparently 

[81] 


The  Mead  of  the  Forest 


uninhabited,    without    even    a    fleeting   wild    animal   to 
break  their  loneliness. 

I  sat  up,  rubbing  my  cramped  limbs,  and  stared  about 
down  the  forest  aisles,  impressed  by  the  sombreness 
of  our  surroundings,  yet  with  every  faculty  aroused. 
The  Dutchman's  languid  movements,  and  the  perspira- 
tion streaming  down  his  face,  told  of  a  hard  night's 
work. 

"  Put  her  into  the  bank  there,  boys,  to  the  right," 
I  commanded.  "  Beyond  the  roots  of  that  big  oak. 
We  '11  breakfast,  and  then  rest  awhile." 

This  was  accomplished  with  a  sweep  of  the  paddles, 
and  we  stepped  ashore,  the  Indians  drawing  the  light 
canoe  well  up  into  the  mud,  Brady  stamping  about  to 
restore  circulation.  Schultz  collapsed  in  his  seat,  and 
I  stopped  to  shake  him. 

"  Tired,  man?     Move  about  and  you  '11  feel  better." 

"  Mein  Gott,"  he  moaned,  rolling  his  eyes  up  at  me 
imploringly.  "  I  vos  mos'  ded  mit  der  tire-ness.  Mein 
feet  von't  move  altready." 

"  Oh,  yes  they  will  —  come  on,  now.  I  thought  you 
were  a  paddler,  Schultz,"  and  I  helped  him  to  stand, 
gripping  one  arm  tightly.  "  Look  at  the  Indians ;  they 
are  seeking  firewood  already." 

"  Yah,  maybe  they  do  dot,  but  mine  legs  was  all 
cramped  mit  de  boat.  It  could  not  be." 

[82] 


The  Indian  Country 


That  the  man's  limbs  were  cramped,  and  useless, 
was  evident  by  his  effort  to  step  forward,  while  the  ex- 
pression on  his  round,  honest  face  implored  mercy. 
The  fellow  had  performed  a  hard  night's  work,  and  his 
plight  appealed  to  my  sympathy. 

"That  wiU  be  all  right,  Schultz,"  I  said  kindly. 
"  I  '11  help  you  ashore,  and  you  can  rest  awhile,  until 
you  feel  better.  I  '11  do  the  cooking  this  morning." 

His  eyes  followed  my  movements  like  those  of  a  grate- 
ful dog.  That  was  a  day  of  iron  discipline  in  the  army, 
not  only  as  a  legacy  of  the  great  war  just  closed,  but 
because  of  the  worthless  nature  of  the  recruits  dis- 
patched to  the  frontier.  It  was  probable  the  man  had 
never  before  received  a  word  of  consideration  from  an 
officer,  and  now  could  scarcely  credit  his  own  ears.  No 
doubt  he  had  rather  expected  to  be  roundly  cursed,  and 
driven  to  his  work,  regardless  of  the  pain  he  was  suf- 
fering. I  could  read  his  surprise  in  the  puzzled  expres- 
sion of  his  face,  as  he  clung  to  a  tree,  kicking  his  feet 
against  the  roots  to  restore  circulation  to  the  benumbed 
limbs.  His  odd  appearance,  now  that  I  observed  him 
more  closely  by  daylight,  amused  me.  He  was  short, 
and  broad,  not  fat,  for  he  seemed  all  muscle,  but  built 
with  a  peculiar  squareness,  more  like  a  stunted  pillar 
than  the  ordinary  form  of  a  man.  He  was  straight  up 
and  down,  with  short,  thick  neck,  supporting  a  round 

[83] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


red  face,  his  light  hair  cropped  short,  and  standing 
out  like  so  many  bristles,  his  blue  eyes  small  and  wide 
apart,  with  broad  nose,  decidedly  pug,  and  ears  that 
stood  straight  out  from  his  head.  It  was  a  stolid,  yet 
pugnacious  countenance,  exhibiting  some  sense  of  humor, 
yet  securely  veiling  any  suspicion  of  intelligence  in  its 
possessor.  The  man  impressed  me  as  almost  a  fool, 
and  I  wondered  why  he  had  been  selected  for  such  a 
journey. 

"  I  remember  seeing  you  before,  Schultz,"  I  said, 
stirring  the  fire  into  blaze.  "  Brown's  company  ?  " 

"  I  vas  mit  Captain  Brown,"  he  rumbled,  with  big 
mouth  endeavoring  to  smile.  "  I  vork  mit  the  kitchen.'* 

"  Oh,  I  see,  detailed  as  cook.  You  are  not  a  recruit 
then?" 

*'  It  was  for  five  year  I  serve  mit  der  army  —  ever 
since  I  come  to  dis  countries.  I  enlist  maybe  der  second 
day  I  land,  for  I  vos  soldier  before  dot." 

"  You  mean  you  had  served  in  Holland?  " 

He  nodded. 

"  Dot  vos  so,"  solemnly,  his  eyes  expressionless.  "  I 
like  dot  soldiering,  but  not  vot  de  kind  you  do  here. 
Maybe  you  let  me  do  dot  now?  I  vos  all  right, 
altreaty,"  and  he  moved  forward  stiffly,  but  determined. 

"  See,  I  show  you  how  it  vos  done  quick." 

I  resigned  my  position  without  regret,  stretching 
[84] 


The  Indian  Country 


myself  full  length  on  the  bank  to  watch  him  puttering 
over  the  fire.  Brady  joined  me,  silent  and  speechless, 
sitting  with  back  against  a  tree;  his  long  rifle  between 
his  knees.  Across  from  us,  nearer  the  canoe,  squatted 
the  three  Indians,  waiting  patiently.  The  Dutchman 
whistled  tunelessly  as  he  worked,  but  there  was  no  other 
sound,  the  great  woods  closing  us  in  on  all  sides,  the 
thin  spiral  of  blue  smoke  disappearing  in  the  branches 
overhead.  We  were  still  too  close  to  the  settlements 
to  be  in  very  much  danger,  and  felt  little  necessity  for 
guarding  our  presence.  White  hunters  penetrated  as 
far  north  as  the  forks,  and  any  raiding  parties  of  hos- 
tile Indians  would  have  been  reported.  Brady  shook 
his  head  when  I  mentioned  the  possibility,  smoking 
calmly. 

"  There  ain't  no  red-skins  down  in  yer,"  he  returned 
confidently.  "  Or  some  o*  the  boys  along  the  river 
would  o'  let  me  know.  We  're  liable  ter  see  plenty  after 
a  while,  I  reckon;  but  they  don't  range  this  fur  south 
lately,  less  they  're  on  the  war-trail.  It  Js  too  nigh  the 
settlements." 

"  How  far  have  we  come  ?  " 

He  spoke  to  the  Delawares,  and  one  of  them  replied 
in  his  own  language. 

"  He  reckons  'bout  fifty  miles,  though  it  would  be 
less  than  that  straight  across  country.  It  takes  maybe 

[85] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


two  days   an'  a  night  ter  make  the  forks  with  good 
paddling." 

The  disinclination  of  the  backwoodsman  to  converse 
was  plainly  evident,  and  I  realized  that  the  less  question- 
ing I  indulged  in  the  better  he  would  serve.  The  greater 
portion  of  his  life  had  been  passed  alone  in  the  soli- 
tudes, and  those  years  had  left  him  chary  of  speech. 
So  we  ate  our  breakfast  almost  in  silence,  and  then  lay 
down  on  the  ground  for  a  few  hours'  rest.  As  none 
of  the  toil  of  our  progress  up  stream  had  thus  far  fallen 
upon  me  I  remained  on  guard  over  the  tired  sleepers, 
cleaning  away  the  debris  of  the  meal,  and  packing  the 
cooking  utensils  back  in  the  canoe.  Nothing  occurred 
to  disturb  us,  the  wood  aisles  leading  in  every  direction 
becoming  more  clearly  revealed  as  the  sun  mounted 
higher  into  the  sky  above  the  trees.  The  men  slept 
soundly,  although  I  noticed  how  any  movement,  even 
the  slight  rustle  of  leaves  in  a  sudden  puff  of  wind, 
served  to  rouse  Brady  or  the  Indians  to  instant  con- 
sciousness. They  possessed  the  instinct  of  wild  animals, 
ever  alert  to  danger.  But  the  stolid  Dutchman  never 
once  stirred  from  where  he  lay  curled  up  into  a  ball, 
his  round  face  hidden  on  his  arm.  It  must  have  been 
fully  noon  when  I  aroused  them,  and  we  again  headed 
the  canoe  up  stream,  Brady  willingly  taking  the  sol- 
dier's place  at  the  after  paddle,  while  I  lay  back  in  the 

[86] 


The  Indian  Country 


stern,  my  coat  serving  for  a  pillow,   and  finally   fell 
asleep. 

The  river  narrowed  rapidly  as  we  advanced  north- 
ward, until  the  great  trees  on  either  bank  nearly  ob- 
scured the  sun  overhead.  Obstructions  made  night 
travel  slow  and  dangerous.  Once  we  passed  a  party  of 
hunters  headed  for  the  Ohio,  their  canoes  piled  high 
with  pelts.  There  were  three  of  them,  all  strangers, 
silent,  suspicious  men,  who  answered  our  questions 
rather  grudgingly  until  one  among  them  recognized 
Brady,  and  became  somewhat  communicative.  They 
had  been  above  the  forks,  but  had  seen  no  Indians, 
although  they  had  come  across  "  sign  "  sufficient  at 
least  to  convince  them  that  raiding  parties  were  in  the 
neighborhood.  For  the  past  week  they  had  depended 
on  traps  for  game,  rather  than  risk  the  firing  of  rifles, 
hiding  their  night  camps,  and  now  were  glad  enough  to 
get  safely  away.  They  left  us  at  sunset,  disappearing 
swiftly  around  a  sharp  bend  of  the  river,  and  we  de- 
cided to  push  on  through  the  dark  night,  spelling  each 
other  at  the  paddles.  While  such  progress  might  be 
slow,  yet  every  mile  thus  gained  was  an  advantage,  arid 
Brady  expressed  an  anxiety  to  reach  the  Wyandot 
council  before  there  was  any  possibility  of  Girty's  re- 
turn. Besides,  the  Delawares  were  already  exhibiting 
a  disinclination  to  proceed,  and  we  were  compelled  to 

[87] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


hold  them  by  threats  to  their  work.  Each  mile  of  ad- 
vance northward  added  to  their  terror,  and  made  our 
task  more  difficult.  Once  Brady  struck  the  chief,  driv- 
ing him  back  to  his  place  in  the  canoe.  This  was  when 
we  discovered  unmistakable  signs  that  a  party  of  Miamis 
had  crossed  the  river  only  shortly  before  we  passed 
the  spot. 

However,  we  ran  the  gauntlet  safely,  a  mere  silent 
shadow  slipping  along  in  the  dark  shade  of  the  protect- 
ing bank,  and  thus  finally  attained  the  forks,  and  landed 
on  the  west  shore.  It  was  dark  when  we  got  there,  but 
the  Delawares  were  so  eager  to  return,  that  we  imme- 
diately put  ashore  all  we  intended  to  pack  with  us,  and 
parted  with  them  gladly.  The  canoe  shot  swiftly  away 
into  the  gloom,  leaving  the  three  of  us  alone.  Bearing 
our  loads  with  us,  we  groped  a  blind  way  through  the 
forest,  back  toward  the  foot  of  the  bluff,  where  we  made 
camp,  as  best  we  might,  at  the  mouth  of  a  ravine,  well 
sheltered  by  underbrush,  and  lay  down,  without  ven- 
turing to  light  a  fire.  For  some  time,  scarcely  a  mem- 
ory of  Rene  D'Auvray  had  remained  with  me,  my  mind 
being  fully  occupied  with  the  increasing  peril  of  our 
position;  yet  as  I  lay  there  in  the  silence,  looking  up 
at  the  stars,  her  eyes  seemed  suddenly  to  smile  again 
into  mine,  and  I  dreamed  of  her  as  I  slept.  The  dawn 
found  us  safe,  seemingly  alone  in  the  wilderness, 

L88] 


CHAPTER  X 

THE   TRAIL   OF  A   WAR   PARTY 

"TJEFORE  the  sun's  rays  touched  the  summit  of  the 
^~^  bluff  we  were  climbing  the  sides  of  the  ravine,  with 
light  packs  on  our  shoulders.  Brady  led  the  way,  tire- 
less and  watchful,  his  long  rifle  held  ready  in  the  crook 
of  his  arm,  his  alert  eyes  searching  out  the  ground 
ahead.  Behind  him  lumbered  Schultz,  heavy-footed, 
and  grumbling  Dutch  oaths  at  every  misstep,  yet  some- 
how managing  to  keep  up ;  while  I  brought  up  the  rear, 
my  gaze  intent  on  the  surrounding  ridges.  There  was 
no  traiL  Yet  we  kept  our  course  to  the  northwest,  as 
directly  as  the  nature  of  the  ground  would  permit, 
and  pressed  forward  hour  after  hour  without  the  ex- 
change of  a  word.  The  forest  growth  thickened  per- 
ceptibly beyond  the  crest,  but  the  underbrush  largely 
disappeared,  and  our  progress  was  rapid.  Brady  sel- 
dom hesitated,  but  the  Dutchman  was  a  slow  walker, 
not  from  any  lack  of  strength,  but  from  sheer  awkward- 
ness, and  I  was  frequently  obliged  to  order  the  guide  to 
less  exertion.  He  looked  about  at  the  figure  behind,  a 
quizzical  smile  in  his  gray  eyes,  but  took  slower  pace 
without  answering.  Indeed  I  have  no  recollection  of  kis 

[89] 


The  Moid  of  the  Forest 


speaking  once  during  the  entire  course  of  the  day,  not 
even  while  sitting,  pipe  in  mouth,  watching  the  breath- 
less Schultz  prepare  food.  It  was  at  this  occupation 
that  the  latter  demonstrated  his  real  worth,  his  cooking, 
to  my  notion,  making  full  amends  for  any  lack  of  march- 
ing ability.  However,  in  spite  of  the  hard  traveling, 
and  the  required  rest,  we  must  have  covered  twenty 
miles  that  first  day,  meeting  with  no  adventures  worthy 
of  record,  and  noting  no  signs  of  Indian  prowlers.  We 
camped  that  night  on  a  small  island  of  the  Mohican,  as 
near  as  I  could  determine  from  my  rough  map. 

The  three  following  days  were  largely  a  repetition 
of  the  first,  but  the  Dutchman  seemed  to  travel  some- 
what better  as  he  grew  accustomed  to  the  woods,  and 
the  nature  of  the  country  exhibited  some  slight  change. 
The  forest  growth  was  all  about,  yielding  only  narrow 
vistas  even  from  the  hill  summits.  We  merely  looked 
forth  over  leagues  of  tree  tops  stretching  to  the  horizon, 
and  pressed  forward  through  dark,  gloomy  aisles,  into 
which  the  light  of  the  sun  seldom  penetrated.  Yet  that 
third  day  of  travel  brought  us  occasionally  into  little 
openings,  green  with  grass,  and  flower  strewn,  restful 
and  inviting  after  long  hours  of  grim  forest  shadow. 
Once  we  skirted  the  shore  of  a  lake,  the  overhanging 
trees  reflected  in  the  margin  of  blue  water.  We  saw 
much  of  wild  game,  but  shot  little,  fearful  that  we  were 

[90] 


The  Trdl  of  a  War  Party 


not  alone  in  the  wilderness.  At  night  we  rested  far 
back  from  the  embers  of  the  camp-fire,  snugly  hidden 
away  in  some  covert.  Lying  there  in  silence,  staring 
about  in  the  black  night,  listening  to  the  mysterious 
noises  of  the  forest  —  the  rustling  of  leaves  high  above* 
the  crackle  of  a  twig  under  the  paw  of  some  prowling 
creature  —  I  grew  to  realize  more  definitely  our  loneli- 
ness, and  the  terror  of  our  mission.  We  were  but 
three  men,  already  plunged  deep  into  the  very  heart 
of  the  hostile  country,  helpless,  except  for  the  few 
weapons  in  our  hands.  To  be  sure  there  was  as  yet  no 
open  declaration  of  war,  perhaps  would  not  be,  yet  this 
in  no  way  lessened  our  immediate  peril;  for  irresponsi- 
ble bands  of  young  warriors,  drawn  indiscriminately 
from  a  dozen  tribes,  eager  for  distinction,  crazed  with 
blood-lust,  roamed  across  this  neutral  ground,  making 
swift  forays  on  exposed  settlers,  or  attacking  stray 
hunting  parties  of  whites.  Scarcely  a  week  passed  but 
stories  of  such  outrages  reached  the  Ohio,  curdling 
the  blood,  and  causing  many  an  oath  of  vengeance.  Nor 
was  the  fault  altogether  with  the  red-men.  Scarcely  less 
savage  indeed  were  the  irresponsible  white  rangers  of 
those  dark  woods,  Indian  haters,  rough  borderers,  with 
whom  fighting  was  a  trade.  In  truth,  murder  and  out- 
rage lurked  everywhere  in  spite  of  a  pretense  at  peace, 
and  every  league  of  forest  might  hide  a  lurking  enemy. 

[91] 


The  Mead  of  the  Forest 


Yet  for  three  days  we  encountered  nothing  to  alarm. 
Brady  purposely  kept  away  from  all  trails,  trusting 
implicitly  to  his  instinct  as  a  woodsman  to  discover  a 
safe  passage.  Twice  we  crossed  faint  traces  leading 
north  and  south,  but  he  paused  only  long  enough  to 
determine  the  length  of  time  since  the  last  party  had 
probably  passed,  and  then  plunged  aside  again  into  the 
untrodden  wilderness.  Even  as  he  pushed  rapidly  for- 
ward, his  keen,  searching  eyes  seemed  to  read  every 
faint  sign ;  not  a  broken  twig,  or  disturbed  grass  blade 
escaping  scrutiny.  The  woods  were  to  him  an  open 
book,  to  be  hastily  scanned,  and  ever  after  remembered. 
I  believe  he  could  have  followed  our  trail  backward, 
step  by  step,  recalling  in  sequence  each  hillock,  or  dis- 
torted tree.  Every  sound,  every  occurrence  of  nature 
had  its  meaning  —  the  flapping  of  bird  wings  above,  the 
moss  on  the  tree  trunks,  the  skurrying  of  hares  among 
the  underbrush,  the  murmur  of  distant  water  —  and  all 
brought  some  message  to  his  alert  ears,  and  served  as 
guidance.  Not  till  then  did  I  know  what  woodcraft 
really  meant,  nor  how  keen  became  the  sense  of  those 
silent  men  whose  lives  were  passed  alone  in  the  wilder- 
ness. I  observed  his  skill  with  increasing  amazement  — 
his  certainty  of  direction,  his  swift  decision,  an  unerring 
instinct.  At  night  I  questioned  him,  and  his  brief  an- 
swers only  served  to  convince  me  what  little  things 

[92] 


The  Trail  of  a  War  Party 


served  his  purpose  —  things  that  more  civilized  men 
would  pass  by  unnoted,  jet  which  to  his  mind,  trained 
by  years  of  woodcraft,  meant  everything.  He  possessed 
the  instincts  of  the  wild,  the  subtlety  of  the  savage,  born 
of  constant  peril  and  loneliness. 

One  night,  when  we  camped  in  the  thick  mazes  of 
oak  trees,  he  told  me  bits  of  his  life,  chary  of  speech  as 
ever,  and  merely  giving  glimpses  here  and  there,  in 
short  drawling  sentences,  in  response  to  my  questioning. 
I  had  to  piece  these  together  as  best  I  could;  yet,  by 
persistent  interrogation  drew  forth  enough  to  make  me 
better  understand.  Born  in  the  Blue  Ridge,  of  pioneer 
parents,  who  were  killed  in  a  raid  of  Shawnees 
when  he  was  twelve  years  old,  he  was  held  in  the  Indian 
villages  until  he  was  sixteen,  and  then  recaptured  by 
a  party  of  Kentucky  riflemen.  From  then  on  he  had 
lived  the  life  of  a  border  hunter,  in  constant  movement 
and  danger ;  had  taught  himself  to  read  and  write ;  had 
been  with  Clark  to  the  Illinois;  and  passed  months  at 
a  time  among  the  tribes,  or  alone  in  the  wilderness. 
Three  times  he  had  run  the  gauntlet,  and  once  had 
been  tied  to  the  stake,  only  to  be  saved  by  a  French 
renegade  whom  he  had  befriended  in  Vincennes.  All 
this,  of  personal  interest,  I  had  fairly  to  drag  from 
him,  but  he  spoke  more  freely  of  the  famous  border 
men  he  had  met  and  associated  with  —  of  Boone  and 

[931 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


Kenton,  McCray  and  Clark ;  of  Sevier,  beside  whom 
he  had  borne  rifle  at  King's  mountain,  and  Zane.  His 
mind  was  well  stored  with  tales  of  these  men,  their 
exploits  and  adventures,  and  he  told  them  with  a  simple 
gayety  which  gave  them  new  zest.  Sitting  there,  with 
the  firelight  on  his  face,  and  revealing  his  long  iron- 
gray  hair  and  beard,  calmly  telling  of  adventures  which 
made  me  shudder,  he  seemed  like  a  man  from  another 
world.  And  I  remained  there  on  guard,  watching  while 
he  slept,  reviewing  again  what  he  had  just  told  me  so 
simply,  with  every  nerve  throbbing,  and  my  eyes  peer- 
ing about  into  the  dark  woods,  terrorized  by  every 
sound  that  disturbed  the  silence  of  the  night. 

Once,  where  we  forded  a  considerable  stream,  which 
I  think  now  must  have  been  the  Vermilion,  we  came 
upon  the  blackened  remains  of  a  camp-fire,  apparently 
deserted  but  a  few  hours  before.  Brady  examined  it 
with  great  care,  trailing  the  party  to  the  river  bank, 
and  then  making  a  wide  circuit  of  the  woods,  before 
he  finally  returned  satisfied. 

"  Less  than  three  hours  gone,"  he  said  soberly,  "  and 
traveling  north." 

"  Do  you  know  who  they  were  ?  "  I  asked.  "  How 
many  were  in  the  party?  " 

"  Miamis  and  Ojibwas,  I  reckon,  and  they  had  a 
prisoner,  bound  to  that  small  tree  out  yonder;  see  here, 

[94] 


The  Trail  of  a  War  Party 


Hayward,  the  fellow  had  boots  on,  and  not  moccasins. 
From  the  trail  they  made  here  on  the  bank  there  must 
have  been  twelve  or  fifteen  Indians;  ay,  and  a  white 
renegade,"  he  bent  down  again  to  study  a  track  in  the 
mud,  "  for  this  is  no  red-skin's  foot,  with  the  toes  turned 
out."  He  swore,  the  only  oath  I  had  heard  thus  far 
from  his  lips,  plucking  a  few  long  hairs  from  off  a 
spittle  of  underbrush,  and  holding  them  up  into  the 
sunlight.  "  A  war  party  all  right,  with  scalps.  One 
fellow  brushed  against  this  bush  as  he  came  down  the 
bank;  from  the  color  they  must  have  been  raiding  the 
German  settlements." 

I  stared  at  the  floating  hairs,  shuddering  in  horror, 
and  hands  gripped  hard  on  my  rifle. 

"  Good  God!  and  they  are  going  our  way?  " 

"  That  need  n't  trouble  us,  while  they  leave  a  plain 
trail  behind.  Those  devils  feel  safe  enough  now,  or 
they  'd  take  more  care.  We  are  in  no  danger  while  they 
keep  ahead  of  us." 

We  followed  their  trail  for  several  miles,  Brady  scan- 
ning each  foot  of  the  way,  and  picking  up  scraps  of  in- 
formation from  little  things  that  I  failed  to  even  notice 
until  he  pointed  them  out  —  a  feather  here,  a  print  of 
a  heel  in  soft  dirt,  a  bit  of  cloth  flapping  from  a  low 
branch,  a  scrap  of  paper  with  German  print,  a  broken 
arrow,  which  he  instantly  said  was  of  Ojibwa  make. 

[95] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  They  are  a  long  ways  from  home,  those  fellows," 
he  commented  soberly,  turning  the  tuft  over  in  his 
hand.  "  Never  knew  they  got  down  so  far  as  this. 
Young  bucks  likely." 

He  chuckled,  pointing  to  the  arrangement  of  feathers 
and  a  peculiar  notch  in  the  shaft. 

"  Every  tribe  has  its  own  form  of  arrow  making," 
he  explained  gravely.  "  I  saw  some  Ojibwas  at  De- 
troit onct,  'bout  three  yeajs  ago;  it  allers  pays  in  the 
woods  to  notice  these  things,  for  they  likely  come  in 
handy.  Now  I  did  n't  much  expect  to  ever  meet  the 
Injuns  of  that  tribe  agin,  for  their  huntin'  grounds  are 
'way  up  north,  yet  here  I  am  followin'  the  trail  of  a 
bunch.  However,  we  '11  take  a  side  track,  an'  see  if 
we  can't  reach  Sandusky  point  ahead  o*  these  mur- 
derers. They  've  got  prisoners,  an'  are  travelin'  slow." 

We  made  a  detour  to  the  right,  plunging  straight 
forward  into  the  unbroken  woods.  Brady  led  at  a  fast 
gait,  his  trained  iron  muscles  tireless,  while  I  urged  the 
breathless  soldier  to  new  exertions,  frightening  him  by 
constant  reference  to  the  raiders  so  close  at  hand.  The 
perspiration  rolled  down  his  face,  yet  he  kept  close  at 
Brady's  heels,  falling  flat  on  the  ground  during  our  brief 
halts,  but  determined  not  to  be  left  behind.  There 
was  certainly  good  stuff  in  the  fellow,  although  he 
swore  stiffly,  and  had  a  tread  like  an  elephant.  Just 

[96] 


The  Trail  of  a  War  Party 


before  dark,  the  forest  about  us  already  in  gloom,  we 
suddenly  emerged  from  out  the  shadow  of  great  trees, 
and  stood  on  the  shore  of  a  lake  girded  with  woods. 
It  burst  open  upon  us  so  unexpectedly  —  the  pressing 
aside  of  low  branches,  then  the  dazzling  gleam  of  water 
—  that  for  the  moment  the  three  of  us  stood  there  irres- 
olute, staring  across  the  calm  surface  in  speechless 
surprise.  It  was  not  a  large  expanse,  probably  not 
more  than  a  mile  or  two  in  either  length  or  width,  yet 
a  fair  body  of  water,  effectually  blocking  our  passage. 
And  it  was  beautiful,  the  wide  surface  scarcely  rippled, 
a  silver  shield  held  upward  to  the  sky,  across  which 
streamed  the  last  rays  of  the  sun,  and  all  about  the 
dark  frame  of  giant  forest  trees,  their  great  branches 
outlined  in  the  clear  water.  Lonely,  solemn,  it  lay  be- 
fore us  like  some  picture  rather  than  a  reality,  with  no 
semblance  of  life  anywhere  along  its  curving  shore. 
A  few  hundred  feet  from  where  we  stood  a  small  rocky 
island,  dense  with  trees,  rose  above  the  mirrored  sur- 
face. After  one  swift  glance  about  the  line  of  shore 
Brady's  eyes  rested  on  this  haven,  as  though  question- 
ing its  feasibility  as  a  night  camp.  There  was  a  yellow 
tinge  to  the  intervening  water,  suggestive  of  shallow- 
ness,  and  I  spoke  first. 

"  It  will  be  dark  in  a  few  minutes  more ;  is  n't  that  a 
sand-ridge  leading  out  yonder  ?  " 

[97] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  It  looks  so  to  me,"  he  replied  quietly,  "  but  the  only 
sure  way  to  tell  is  to  test  the  passage.  In  my  judg- 
ment we  better  get  out  there  if  we  can,  for  there  's  no 
knowin'  where  those  Injuns  may  be." 

He  led  the  way,  and  we  followed  in  single  file,  our 
packs  and  rifles  held  high  overhead.  The  water  deep- 
ened until  it  reached  Schultz's  armpits,  but  there  was 
no  perceptible  current,  and  the  sand  underfoot  was  firm 
as  rock.  Deep  purple  shadows  seemed  to  shut  us  in, 
as  we  clambered  up  the  steep  bank  of  the  island,  our 
clothes  dripping.  Brady  with  outstretched  hand  helped 
me  to  climb,  clinging  with  his  other  to  a  sapling.  Then 
he  pointed  across  the  darkened  surface  toward  the  lower 
end  of  the  lake.  In  the  distance  there  was  the  red  glow 
of  a  fire,  barely  visible. 


[98] 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   LONELY    CABIN 

"\  \  7E  stood  there  in  the  tree  shadows  for  some  time, 
staring  at  that  far-off  light,  the  evening  settling 
darker  across  the  water,  the  stars  beginning  to  peer 
forth  in  the  arch  above.  It  was  scarce  more  than  a  red 
star  itself,  yet,  even  at  that  distance,  the  flame  revealed 
dimly  the  surrounding  trees,  while  occasionally  a  dark 
form  would  pass  between  us  and  the  gleam,  a  mere  out- 
line, vanishing  instantly.  The  thought  of  us  all  must 
have  been  with  the  hapless  white  prisoner,  for  the  Dutch- 
man gripped  my  arm  suddenly. 

"  Mein  Gottl  Maybe  dey  burn  heem?  Vot  you  tink?  " 

I  glanced  at  Brady,  standing  straight  and  motion- 
less, hands  gripped  on  his  rifle,  his  face  stern,  his  eyes 
on  the  distant  flare. 

"  There  is  little  danger  of  that  now,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  They  are  after  ransom,  or  they  never  would  have 
brought  the  man  so  far." 

"  Do  you  suppose  we  could  help  the  poor  devil  ?  " 
I  asked  in  sudden  pity. 

His  gray  eyes  met  mine  boldly. 

**  That  is  what  I  am  goin*  to  find  out,  Hayward,"  he 
[99] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


returned  dryly,  "  when  that  fire  sorter  dies  down,  an' 
they  're  all  asleep.  'Tain't  likely  they  '11  keep  watch, 
fer  they  ain't  no  reason  ter  think  there  's  another  white 
man  this  side  o'  Harmar  an'  'tain't  my  natur'  ter  let 
Injuns  alone.  Then  maybe  that  pore  cuss  is  a  friend 
o'  mine ;  there  a  heap  of  'em  huntin'  north  o'  the  Ohio." 

"  But  the  risk,  Brady,"  I  protested. 

"  Thar  ain't  much,  just  fer  me  to  sorter  scout  around, 
an'  find  out  who  the  pore  cuss  is.  I  reckon  if  it  was  me, 
most  any  o'  the  boys  would  take  the  chance.  Do  n't 
yer  worry  none :  I  '11  take  keer  o'  myself."  He  looked 
about,  evidently  dismissing  the  subject.  "  Now  let 's 
make  camp,  but  we  won't  dare  to  light  no  fire.  Come  on, 
Dutchy,  let 's  git  back  behind  them  trees :  those  red- 
skins might  prowl  around  a  bit  before  they  settle 
down." 

We  carried  our  packs  with  us,  moving  silently  be- 
tween the  tree  trunks,  darkness  steadily  increasing  as 
we  advanced  to  the  slightly  higher  ground  inland.  The 
island  was  wider  than  I  had  supposed,  and  must  have 
contained  fully  five  acres,  densely  wooded,  with  no  sign 
of  a  trail  anywhere.  Apparently  we  were  the  first  ex- 
plorers to  penetrate  its  thickets.  Suddenly  we  came  to 
the  edge  of  a  small  opening,  sloping  down  like  a  saucer, 
grass  covered  and  treeless,  open  to  the  sky,  but  with  a 
dark  irregular  something  at  its  center.  So  shapeless 

[100] 


The  Lonely  Cabin 


was  this  black  blotch  that  I  took  it  at  first  to  be  a 
clump  of  brush,  but  the  scout  gripped  my  arm. 

"  Hayward !  there  's  a  log  house ! "  he  whispered, 
pointing.  "  Do  you  see  ?  Keep  the  Dutchman  back." 

I  dropped  to  my  knees,  and  studied  the  dim  outline, 
which  the  night  rendered  so  indistinct.  Little  by  little 
it  assumed  more  definite  shape  —  a  one-story  log  hut, 
with  an  extension  at  the  rear,  and  an  outside  chimney 
forking  up  beside  the  roof.  It  was  a  gloomy  looking 
place,  with  no  glimmer  of  light  showing  anywhere. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it?  "  asked  Brady  in  a  whis- 
per, as  tho'  doubting  his  own  eyes. 

"  It 's  a  house,  all  right,"  I  answered.  "  Some  French 
hunter's  shack." 

He  shook  his  head  negatively. 

"  They  do  n't  build  like  that.  It  beats  me,  but  who- 
ever built  that  house  put  it  up  to  lire  in.  Howsomever 
I  do  n't  see  no  sign  o'  anybody  thar  now,  an*  I  'm  a 
goin'  ter  find  out  what  the  shebang  looks  like.  Dutchy, 
you  stay  yere,  an'  watch  these  things,  while  the  two  o' 
us  scouts  'round  a  bit." 

He  dropped  his  pack  on  the  ground,  and  I  flung  mine 
beside  it,  smiling  at  the  readiness  with  which  Schultz 
found  a  resting  place  propped  snugly  between. 

"  No  smoking  now,"  I  admonished  sternly,  staring 
down  at  him,  "  and  keep  your  eyes  open." 

[  101  ]   " 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  I  yust  have  von  pipe,"  he  pleaded  plaintively.  "  I 
vos  mos'  ded  mit  not  smokin'." 

"  Well,  you  '11  be  entirely  dead  if  you  try  it  now,"  I 
returned  shortly.  "  There  is  to  be  no  light,  or  noise, 
until  I  say  so  —  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yah :  eet  vos  vat  you  say ;  I  do  eet." 

Stooping  low,  so  as  not  to  be  so  easily  perceived  in 
the  darkness,  the  two  of  us,  grasping  our  rifles  in  readi- 
ness, stole  across  the  open  space  toward  the  house. 
There  was  no  sign  of  life  so  far  as  could  be  seen  or  heard, 
yet  if  the  place  was  deserted  it  could  not  have  been  for 
long,  as  there  were  no  appearances  of  decay  or  abandon- 
ment of  the  premises.  The  log  walls  were  firm,  the  clay 
between  resisting  the  pressure  of  our  fingers  in  an  at- 
tempt to  dislodge  it,  and  the  only  door  noticed  was 
tightly  closed.  We  hesitated  to  open  this,  uncertain 
what  mystery  might  await  us  within,  and  listening  anx- 
iously for  any  sound.  The  stillness  was  so  profound 
as  to  be  painful,  and,  whispering  to  me  to  stand  back, 
with  rifle  poised  Brady  silently  lifted  the  strong  wooden 
latch.  The  door  slid  back  in  grooves,  the  sound  of 
movement  barely  perceptible,  and  we  stared  into  the 
black  interior,  seeing  nothing  except  a  little  section  of 
dirt  floor,  dimly  revealed  by  the  stars  overhead. 

"  We  '11  feel  it  out,  boy,"  muttered  the  scout,  his 
hand  gripping  my  arm.  "  Nobody  at  home,  I  reckon, 

[102] 


The  Lonely  Cabin 


but  it  won't  do  to  risk  a  light.  You  take  that  side,  an' 
I  '11  take  this,  an'  see  what  we  find." 

Our  soft  moccasins  on  the  hard  dirt  floor  made  no 
noise  as  we  groped  our  way  cautiously  forward.  I  held 
to  the  right,  following  the  log  wall,  impressed  by  the 
discovery  that  the  logs  had  been  roughly  squared,  evi- 
dently by  an  axe.  No  mere  hunter's  shack  would  have 
been  erected  with  such  care:  beyond  question  this  iso- 
lated house  had  been  erected  as  a  permanent  home.  But 
by  whom?  But  one  answer  appeared  reasonable:  only 
some  outcast,  or  recluse,  seeking  the  loneliness  of  the 
wilderness,  would  have  chosen  such  a  spot  in  which  to 
hide  himself  effectively  from  companionship.  The  In- 
dian trail  undoubtedly  passed  along  the  lower  end  of 
the  lake,  where  the  distant  fire  flamed,  and  here  in  the 
heart  of  this  wooded  island  was  absolute  solitude.  Years 
might  pass  with  no  red  or  white  foot  pressing  these 
shores.  Accident  alone  would  reveal  the  presence  of  a 
house  in  such  a  situation. 

I  moved  forward  slowly,  foot  by  foot,  feeling  blindly 
with  one  hand,  the  other  grasping  my  rifle.  I  came  to 
a  rude  bench,  home-made  without  nails,  touched  a  small 
table  with  crossed  legs,  holding  nothing  but  an  empty 
pewter  bowl,  felt  the  shaggy  skin  of  some  animal  fas- 
tened against  the  log  wall,  and  then  a  few  articles  of 
warm  clothing  dangling  from  wooden  pins.  These  were 

[103] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


rough  garments,  made  of  skins,  with  a  single  coarse 
shirt.  Beyond  them  my  fingers  came  in  contact  with 
the  latch  of  a  door.  As  I  touched  this  the  menacing 
growl  of  some  animal  broke  the  intense  stillness.  I 
stepped  back,  startled,  unnerved,  and  in  my  recoil,  came 
into  contact  with  a  man.  A  hand  like  iron  gripped  me, 
but  it  was  Brady's  voice  that  spoke: 

"  From  the  other  room,"  he  said  shortly,  "  a  dog." 

"  A  dog!  then  why  has  n't  he  barked?  " 

"  Because  he  is  not  that  kind,  I  reckon ;  a  big  brute 
from  his  growl.  Did  you  find  anything?  " 

I  told  him  briefly. 

"  Fireplace  on  my  side,  two  chairs  and  an  axe  in  the 
corner,"  he  added  shortly.  "  Nobody  home  but  the  dog, 
I  reckon,  but  we  will  have  to  fight  it  out  with  him,  be- 
fore we  take  possession.  Stand  where  you  are  until  I 
feel  out  the  door." 

I  waited  scarcely  breathing,  seeing  nothing,  but  lis- 
tening to  the  big  brute  sniffing  at  the  crack,  occasionally 
giving  utterance  to  a  deep  growl  as  he  caught  fresh 
scent  of  our  presence.  Once  he  leaped  against  the  door, 
clawing  at  the  wood  fiercely.  He  would  need  be  a  burly, 
savage  beast  indeed  from  the  disturbance  he  made.  Then 
Brady  whispered: 

"Leather  hinges,  and  opens  this  way.  Here,  Hay- 
ward,  take  hold  of  the  latch ;  we  '11  have  to  brain  the 

[104] 


The  Lonely  Cabin 


brute.  Do  n't  open  until  I  say  so,  and  then  only  about 
a  foot.  Brace  yourself  to  hold  it  firm,  and  keep  your 
gun  ready ;  I  've  got  the  axe." 

I  took  my  position,  but  with  heart  beating  rapidly, 
and  waited.  The  dog,  as  though  realizing  danger,  flung 
himself  with  full  force  against  the  door,  and  gave  one 
deep  bark  of  savage  ferocity.  Brady  touched  my  hand, 
locating  the  opening.  Then  there  was  an  instant  of 
silence. 

"Now!"  he  said. 

I  lifted  the  wooden  latch,  gripping  with  both  hands, 
my  shoulders  and  foot  braced.  There  was  a  fierce  leap 
of  the  brute,  so  sudden  as  to  cause  me  to  give  back,  the 
thug  of  a  descending  axe,  a  howl  of  pain  and  rage,  the 
ugly  snap  of  jaws.  Coarse  hair  swept  my  hands:  there 
was  another  blow,  the  sound  of  a  falling  body:  then 
the  helve  of  the  axe  struck  my  foot.  Back  and  forth 
on  the  dirt  floor  man  and  brute  struggled,  crashing 
into  the  table,  and  overturning  it.  Brady  uttered  one 
oath:  then  the  dog  snarled,  and  lay  still,  while  I  stood 
with  the  axe  poised,  unable  to  tell  which  was  which  in 
the  darkness.  Something  moved,  and  I  took  a  step  for- 
ward. 

"Brady!" 

"  All  right,"  he  said  breathlessly,  "  I  —  I  had  to  knife 
the  brute  —  he  —  was  as  big  as  a  calf,  and  —  and 

[105] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


he  got  my  shoulder.  Did  you  find  a  window  on  your 
side?" 

"  No." 

"  There  was  none  on  mine.  We  '11  have  to  risk  a  light, 
I  reckon,  for  I  'm  bleedin'  considerable.  Try  the  fire- 
place yonder." 

I  felt  my  way  along  the  wall,  discovered  some  tinder, 
and,  with  flint  and  steel  from  my  pocket,  coaxed  a  blaze. 
There  were  a  few  pieces  of  wood  piled  up  on  the  hearth, 
and  a  moment  later,  the  curling  red  flames  revealed  the 
entire  interior.  Brady  rested  against  the  bench,  the 
sleeve  of  his  blouse  ripped  into  shreds,  blood  dripping 
from  his  fingers,  and  sinking  into  the  earth  floor.  A  few 
feet  away,  a  great  mass  of  shaggy  hair,  lay  the  dog  in 
a  heap,  his  lips  still  drawn  back  in  a  snarl,  revealing  the 
cruel  white  teeth,  the  shaft  of  a  knife  protruding  from 
the  throat.  He  was  a  massive  animal,  terrifying  to 
look  upon  even  in  death.  Yet  I  barely  glanced  that 
way,  assured  that  he  was  dead,  and  all  my  interest  cen- 
tered on  Brady,  his  face  ghastly  under  the  brown  tan. 
There  was  a  water  bucket  half  filled  on  a  low  bench, 
and  I  tore  down  the  shirt  from  the  peg,  and  swabbed 
out  the  wound.  It  was  a  jagged,  ugly  gash,  the  print 
of  each  tooth  revealed,  and  the  man  clinched  his  hands 
in  agony  as  I  worked  rapidly.  The  blood  staunched 
somewhat  I  bound  it  tightly  with  a  silk  neckerchief,  and 

[106] 


The  Lonely  Cabin 


gave  him  a  drink  of  brandy  from  my  pocket  flask.  This 
brought  a  little  color  back  into  the  man's  face,  and  he 
found  strength  to  sit  up,  resting  against  the  bench,  his 
eyes  on  the  dead  dog. 

"  Mastiff,"  he  said,  "  and  the  biggest  devil  I  ever  saw. 
I  hit  him  with  the  axe  the  first  blow,  but  in  the  dark 
failed  to  strike  high  enough,  I  reckon.  What  do  you 
suppose  he  was  guardin'  so  savage?  " 

I  shook  my  head,  glancing  about  at  the  open  door. 
Brady's  eyes  followed  mine. 

"  Get  a  light  of  some  kind,  Hayward,  and  take  a 
look,"  he  said  slowly,  "  and  then  have  Dutchy  bring  in 
the  packs." 

I  did  as  he  suggested,  finding  a  bit  of  pitchy  wood 
that  burned  freely,  and  holding  it  out  before  me  as  I 
peered  curiously  through  the  opening.  A  glance  about 
told  me  that  the  lean-to  was  used  as  a  shed,  for  it  was 
half  filled  with  split  wood,  opened  boxes,  and  various 
odds  and  ends.  This  knowledge  came  to  me  in  a  flash, 
but  the  sight  which  riveted  my  eyes  was  the  body  of  a 
man  lying  directly  beyond  the  doorway,  face  upward, 
his  skull  cleft  as  if  by  the  vicious  blow  of  an  axe. 


[107] 


CHAPTER  XII 

CAPTAIN  D'AUVRAY 

T  \  THAT  is  it?  "  asked  Brady,  startled  by  my  sud- 
den exclamation,  and  striving  to  get  up.  I 
glanced  back  at  him, 

"  A  dead  man ;  stay  where  you  are ;  he  is  dead  all 
right.  I  '11  be  back  in  a  moment." 

I  stepped  within,  and  held  the  torch  down  closer,  the 
ghastly  yellow  light  falling  full  on  the  upturned  face. 
He  was  a  man  of  seventy,  or  over,  a  sturdy  looking  fel- 
low for  his  years,  in  the  garments  of  a  French  courier 
des  bois;  his  features  strong,  refined,  bearing  even  in 
death  a  certain  peculiar  dignity,  increased  by  a  snow- 
white  beard.  Apparently  he  had  not  been  dead  long,  nor 
was  there  slightest  evidence  of  struggle :  the  hands  were 
empty,  and,  judging  from  the  ugly  gash  in  his  head,  he 
had  been  struck  from  behind  unexpectedly.  It  was  a 
ghastly  wound,  and  the  man  had  probably  died  in- 
stantly. The  blow  must  have  been  a  treacherous  one, 
delivered  by  some  person  acquainted  with  the  cabin: 
otherwise  the  dog  would  have  sprung  to  his  master's 
defense.  Plainly  this  was  murder,  and  the  assassin  had 
taken  his  time:  had  closed  the  door,  locked  in  the  dog: 

[109] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


had  even  washed  off  the  blade  of  the  axe,  and  left  it 
standing  there  against  the  wall.  What  could  have  been 
the  object?  Was  it  revenge?  robbery?  I  felt  in  the 
pocket  of  the  loose  blouse,  finding  nothing,  but  my  eye 
caught  the  glimmer  of  a  medal  fastened  to  the  front  of 
the  shirt.  I  unpinned  it,  and  held  it  up  to  the  light  of 
the  torch,  studying  out  the  French  inscription,  letter 
by  letter,  half  guessing  at  its  meaning  —  it  was  a  medal 
of  honor,  given  for  special  gallantry  in  action  at  Fonte- 
noy  to  Captain  Raoel  D'Auvray. 

I  stood  staring  at  it,  and  then  down  into  the  face  of 
the  dead  man.  D'Auvray :  Her  name !  The  same  name 
she  had  given  me !  The  face  of  the  girl  came  back  in- 
stantly to  memory,  distinct,  living.  There  was  a  famil- 
iarity, a  resemblance,  now  that  I  thus  connected  the 
two  together.  She  had  told  me  her  father  was  a  French 
officer  —  but  dead,  killed  in  action.  Perhaps  she  thought 
so;  had  been  deceived  into  this  belief.  Yet  I  was  con- 
vinced now  that  this  was  the  man :  that  he  had  been  liv- 
ing up  to  a  few  hours  before,  and  had  met  his  fate  here 
in  the  wilderness  by  a  foul  and  treacherous  blow.  Her 
father !  The  knowledge  seemed  to  shock  me,  to  leave  me 
helpless :  I  could  not  divorce  my  mind  from  the  remem- 
brance of  the  daughter.  Where  would  she  be  that  night? 
Safe  at  Harmar?  or  in  the  dark  woods  with  Girty?  Did 
she  know  about  this  hidden  cabin?  this  island  rendez- 

[110] 


Captain  D'Auvray 


vous?  Surely  this  could  be  no  mere  coincident  of  name 
and  history,  yet  what  was  the  mystery  that  enveloped 
both?  Why  was  this  Captain  D'Auvray  hiding  here? 
and  why  did  she  deny  that  he  was  still  living?  The  more 
I  thought,  the  more  tangled  grew  the  skein.  Brady 
called  me,  and  I  stepped  back  into  the  other  room,  still 
dazed,  grasping  the  medal  in  my  hand. 

"  Well,  what  is  it?  "  he  asked  gruffly.  "  What  have 
you  found  out?  " 

I  told  him  briefly,  describing  the  appearance  of  the 
body,  and  handing  him  the  medal.  He  turned  it  over  in 
the  light  of  the  torch. 

"  French,  ain't  it?  What  does  it  say?  " 

"  An  army  decoration  for  gallant  conduct  given  to 
Captain  Raoel  D'Auvray,  Fifth  Cuirassiers." 

"  You  think  it  belonged  to  him  ?  " 

"  Beyond  doubt :  it  was  pinned  to  his  shirt  —  the 
one  thing  he  treasured  in  his  exile." 

"  D'Auvray,"  he  repeated,  as  if  the  name  had  familiar 
sound.  "  I  've  heard  of  him  before.  Wait  a  bit :  now 
I  have  it  —  he  commanded  Hamilton's  Indians  at  Vin- 
cennes  when  Clark  took  the  town.  I  saw  him  once." 

He  got  to  his  feet  with  my  help,  and  braced  himself 
in  the  doorway,  looking  intently  at  the  upturned  face, 
as  I  held  the  torch  extended. 

"  That 's  the  man,"  he  said  soberly.  "  I  remember 
[111] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


the  white  beard:  someone  told  me  the  Wyandots  called 
him  the  White  Chief.  And  he  was  in  the  French  army? 
An  officer?  Poor  devil!  I  wonder  what  happened  to 
drive  him  to  this." 

He  stared  about  among  the  shadows  at  the  miscel- 
laneous articles  littering  the  shed,  his  trained  eyes  not- 
ing things  I  had  overlooked  in  my  excitement. 

"  He  was  murdered  all  right,  lad,"  he  commented 
slowly,  "  and  by  a  white  man.  This  was  not  Injun  work. 
Here  is  the  imprint  of  a  boot  heel :  you  can  even  see  the 
nails.  That 's  odd :  I  did  n't  suppose  there  was  a  boot 
worn  in  this  country  except  by  British  officers.  What 
is  that  red  garment  lying  on  the  box?  I  thought  so; 
an  English  infantry  jacket,  made  in  London,  and  it 
never  belonged  to  D'Auvray."  He  held  it  up.  "  It  was 
a  big  fellow  who  wore  this  coat,  about  your  size." 

"  An  old  garment  thrown  away." 

"  I  '11  wager  something  it  has  been  on  a  man's  back 
within  twenty-four  hours,"  he  returned  swiftly.  "  Here 
is  tobacco  in  this  pocket,  and  a  pipe.  Hold  your  torch 
closer:  there  is  writing  on  this  bit  of  torn  envelope." 

We  endeavored  to  decipher  it  together,  but  without 
much  success.  The  words  were  English,  written  in  a 
plain  hand  enough,  but  conveyed  no  meaning. 

"  Some  secret  message  in  code,"  I  said  at  last.  "  All 
I  can  make  out  is  the  date." 

[112] 


Captain  D'Auvray 


"  Written  ten  days  ago  at  Detroit.  Well,  we  know 
something  then.  It  would  take  the  fellow  five  days  to 
travel  that  distance,  with  good  luck.  He  must  have 
come  directly  here  to  D'Auvray.  He  wore  boots  and  a 
uniform,  and  left  in  such  a  hurry  he  forgot  his  jacket. 
He  '11  be  the  man  who  did  this  job,  and  we  '11  find  other 
signs  when  it  gets  daylight.  I  've  lost  too  much  blood 
to  hunt  around,  now.  So  bring  the  Dutchman  in." 

I  found  Sckultz  where  we  had  left  him,  resting  against 
the  packs,  but  wide  awake.  The  long  wait  alone  had 
affected  even  his  phlegmatic  nerves,  and  he  began  to 
protest,  but  I  stopped  his  tongue  sharply,  and,  between 
us,  we  lugged  the  packs  into  the  hut.  Brady  had  found 
a  chair,  but  one  glance  into  the  Dutchman's  vacant  face, 
as  he  stared  about  him,  led  to  an  explosion. 

"  Come  on  you  lout,  get  busy,"  he  growled.  "  Do  n't 
be  standing  there  staring  around  pop-eyed,  as  if  there 
was  nothing  to  do.  I  'm  hungry.  Hayward,  wake  the 
fool  up  with  a  kick." 

I  laughed,  but  ordered  Schultz,  who  was  far  too  sur- 
prised to  get  angry,  to  drop  the  packs  in  one  corner. 
Then,  with  the  torch  still  burning,  I  helped  him  lift 
D'Auvray's  body  out  of  the  way,  and  drag  the  dead 
dog  into  the  shed.  As  we  did  this  I  explained  briefly 
what  had  occurred,  paying  small  heed  to  his  guttural 
exclamations,  but  anxious  to  get  the  job  over  with. 

[113] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Now  get  busy  at  the  fire,"  I  ordered.  "  There  are 
no  windows,  and  nothing  to  fear.  I  '11  clean  up  this 
litter." 

As  he  worked,  I  went  across  to  Brady,  who  sat  with 
head  bowed  on  the  table. 

"  Does  your  wound  pain  badly?  " 

"  It  bites  a  bit,"  but  he  lifted  his  face  and  smiled. 
"  I  '11  be  all  right  if  Dutchy  ever  gets  supper  ready.  I 
was  tryin'  to  argue  this  affair  out,  but  it  is  sure  some 
mixed  up  mess.  What 's  a  British  soldier  doin'  down 
here  anyway,  and  why  should  he  come  with  orders  to 
kill  this  Frenchman  ?  That 's  what  I  reckon  that  writin* 
meant,  though  maybe  it  didn't,  an'  they  just  naturally 
got  into  a  quarrel  here  alone.  But  it  somehow  do  n't 
look  like  a  fair  fight,  to  me,  but  deliberate  murder.  Then 
this  D'Auvray  livin'  here  all  by  himself,  looks  almighty 
queer.  This  yere  house  was  built  to  stand,  an'  hidden 
away  on  this  island  fer  some  purpose.  It  didn't  just 
happen.  D'Auvray  used  to  be  with  the  Wyandots,  so 
they  told  me,  but  this  ain't  their  country ;  it  do  n't  really 
belong  to  no  tribe,  unless  it 's  the  Miamis.  Looks  like 
he  'd  broke  away,  an'  was  playin'  a  lone  hand." 

I  drew  up  the  bench,  and  sat  down. 

"  There  is  more  to  this  than  you  have  discovered, 
Brady,"  I  said,  determined  to  explain.  "  Did  you 
chance  to  see  a  French  girl  back  at  Fort  Harmar?  " 

[114] 


Captain  D'Auvray 


He  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  as  I  remember ;  who  was  she  ?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  would  like  to  know.  I  hoped  you 
might  have  picked  up  some  information.  She  was  at 
General  Harmar's  office  —  a  young  girl,  not  much  over 
twenty,  I  should  judge,  with  dark  eyes  and  hair,  speak- 
ing broken  English,  her  dress  half  Indian  and  half 
border  French.  Anyone  would  call  her  a  beauty,  bright 
and  vivacious,  but  with  an  independence  that  made  you 
careful.  She  could  take  care  of  herself,  and  he  would 
be  a  bold  man  who  risked  an  insult.  She  was  one  in  a 
thousand,  to  my  thought.  What  name  do  you  suppose 
she  gave  me  ?  " 

His  eyes,  interested,  questioned  me,  but  he  sat  silent. 

"  Rene  D'Auvray ;  and  she  explained  her  father  was  a 
French  officer,  killed  in  battle." 

"And  her  mother?" 

"  A  woman  of  the  Wyandots,  but  a  half-breed." 

"  D'Auvray !  The  same  as  the  dead  man  yonder ! 
And  he  was  a  soldier.  'T  is  an  odd  case.  What  else  do 
you  know  about  her?  " 

"  Precious  little,  indeed,  for  she  seemed  an  adept  in 
deceit.  She  even  pretended  to  know  me,  and  actually 
spoke  my  name  before  it  had  been  told  her.  How  she 
ever  learned  it  is  more  than  I  can  guess.  The  little 
minx  is  full  of  tricks,  but  plays  them  so  saucily  it  was 

[115] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


not  in  my  heart  to  become  angry.  By  heavens !  one 
glance  in  her  eyes  would  disarm  any  man  —  " 

"  Yes,"  he  interrupted,  "  but  whence  came  she  there? 
and  for  what  purpose?" 

I  told  him  all  I  knew,  and  he  listened  eagerly,  his 
eyes  on  Schultz  puttering  about  the  fire. 

"  Huh !  "  he  commented,  "  the  lady  told  each  one  of 
you  a  different  tale." 

"  She  did  not  seem  to  care,"  I  explained.  "  It  was 
as  if  it  were  all  play,  all  masquerade  with  her ;  as  if  she 
sought  merely  to  complicate  mystery.  Only  once  did  I 
deem  her  truly  in  earnest;  when  she  begged  that  I  take 
her  with  me  on  this  journey." 

"  Yet  she  must  have  jested  in  her  threat  to  travel 
hither  with  the  renegade." 

"  I  fear  it  was  not  jest,"  I  said  soberly.  "  She  was 
in  a  mood  to  do  even  that,  and  I  do  not  think  she  feared 
the  man.  They  may  be  on  our  trail  now;  ay!  close  at 
hand,  Brady,  for  they  both  know  these  woods  better 
than  either  of  us.  'T  is  my  thought,  now,  the  dead  man 
yonder  was  the  lass's  father,  and  she  would  know  his 
cabin." 

His  eyes  turned  to  the  door,  and  then  to  the  food 
Schultz  was  placing  on  the  table  before  us,  but  whatever 
his  thought  it  remained  unuttered.  As  we  sat  there 
eating,  he  was  apparently  turning  it  all  over  in  his 

[116] 


Captain  D'Auvray 


mind,  trying  to  draw  the  tangled  ends  of  the  skein  to- 
gether. The  Dutchman  asked  questions  which  I  an- 
swered briefly,  enjoying  the  puzzled  look  on  his  round 
face,  and  the  struggle  of  his  lips  to  find  fit  expression. 
As  we  finished  the  meal,  some  newly  awakened  curiosity 
caused  me  to  glance  out  again  into  the  rear  room.  It 
was  gloomy  with  shadows,  the  bodies  of  man  and  dog 
beyond  view;  yet  what  I  perceived  brought  from  my 
lips  a  sudden  exclamation. 

"  Brady,  someone  has  been  in  here!    The  outer  door 
is  unlatched  —  yes  —  and  the  soldier's  coat  is  gone !  " 


[117] 


CHAPTER  XIII 

I   TAKE  A   PRISONER 

\\  rE  searched  the  room  carefully,  but  discovered 
no  sign  of  its  having  been  entered,  except  for  the 
door  standing  slightly  ajar,  and  the  disappearance  of 
the  red  coat.  We  dare  not  carry  a  torch  into  the  open, 
and  the  night  was  too  dark  for  us  to  trace  marks  on  the 
ground.  Brady  stole  out,  and  circled  the  small  clearing 
twice,  but  discovered  nothing.  He  even  made  his  way 
through  the  fringe  of  trees  as  far  as  the  shore,  and  as- 
sured himself  that  the  distant  Indian  camp  fire  was 
still  burning  at  the  foot  of  the  lake.  He  returned, 
baffled,  yet  inspired  with  fresh  determination  to  solve 
the  mystery  into  which  we  found  ourselves  plunged. 

He  stood  in  the  glow  of  firelight,  looking  to  the  prim- 
ing of  his  rifle,  his  face  shadowed. 

"  I  am  going  out  awhile,  Hayward,"  he  said  finally- 
"  Yes,  I  am  all  right  now.  I  meant  to  take  you  along, 
but,  I  reckon,  it  will  be  safer  not  to  leave  the  Dutchman 
here  alone.  However,  I  do  n't  think  there  will  be  any 
more  visitors  tonight." 

"  You  believe  the  murderer  came  back?  " 

"  Who  else  could  it  be  ?  There  was  only  one  ob j  ect 
[119] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


in  such  a  visit  —  the  recovery  of  the  coat.  The  fellow 
knew  that  would  condemn  him  if  ever  discovered,  and 
so  he  took  the  risk  of  coming  back  to  get  it.  He  found 
us  here,  and  will  never  return,  unless,"  he  hesitated,  as 
he  turned  the  thought  over  in  his  mind,  "  well,  unless 
he  is  connected  with  those  Injuns  out  yonder,  and  brings 
them  along  with  him.  That  is  what  I  am  goin'  to  find 
out." 

"  But  that  would  be  impossible,  Brady,"  I  inter- 
posed. 

"  Why?  "  calmly.  "  They  were  some  hours  ahead  of 
us,  and  must  have  made  camp  long  before  dark.  There 
was  time  enough  for  the  fellow  to  have  come  up  here 
and  do  the  deed.  The  man  was  not  dead  long  when  we 
discovered  his  body,  and  we  have  proof  enough  now 
that  the  assassin  had  not  gene  far  away.  It 's  my 
thought  he  either  belongs  to  that  raiding  party,  or 
else  has  gone  to  them  for  refuge.  The  British  are  hand 
in  glove  with  those  devils,  and  they  '11  protect  a  red 
coat  every  time.  Anyhow  I  mean  to  find  out  before 
we  're  trapped  in  this  place,  and,  likely  enough,  charged 
with  the  murder." 

He  slipped  out  the  back  way,  disappearing  instantly, 
and  I  picked  up  my  own  rifle,  bade  Schultz  remain  where 
he  was,  and  followed,  with  the  purpose  of  scouting 
about  the  island.  Brady's  suspicion  had  left  me  un- 

[120] 


I  Take  a  Prisoner 


easy ;  I  could  perceive  the  new  danger  we  were  in.  Sup- 
pose the  assassin,  eager  to  save  himself  from  suspicion, 
should  be  attracted  to  that  camp  of  raiders,  and,  relying 
on  their  friendship  for  protection,  charge  us  with  the 
murder  of  D'Auvray.  What  mercy  could  we  hope  for 
at  their  hands?  Beyond  doubt  the  band  was  com- 
posed of  ambitious  young  warriors,  who  had  already 
tasted  blood,  and  under  control  of  no  chief  able  to  re- 
strain them,  if  their  wild  passions  should  be  appealed 
to.  The  very  fact  that  two  different  tribes  were  rep- 
resented would  offset  any  chief's  authority,  and  it  was 
well  known  that  both  Ojibwa  and  Miami  were  in  British 
pay,  the  open  enemies  of  our  settlers.  A  single  word 
spoken  to  reveal  our  presence  on  the  island  would  be 
sufficient,  and  to  such  as  these  our  papers  would  be 
merely  mockery.  They  could  not  read  them,  nor  would 
they  care  what  they  contained.  My  first  impulse,  as  all 
this  flashed  across  my  mind,  was  to  hasten  after  Brady, 
order  him  to  return,  and  then  depart  from  the  spot 
before  it  was  too  late.  We  could  travel  all  night,  con- 
cealing our  trail,  and  by  dawn  be  well  ahead  of  our 
pursuers. 

But  I  emerged  into  darkness  and  silence.  Quickly 
as  I  had  made  this  decision  I  was  too  late.  The  scout 
had  already  disappeared  across  the  narrow  open  space, 
and  vanished  into  the  fringe  of  trees.  There  was  noth- 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


ing  to  guide  me,  except  a  vague  sense  of  direction,  yet 
I  felt  my  way  forward  through  the  dense  tree  growth, 
hearing  no  sound  of  movement,  and  compelled  to  move 
slowly  until  I  emerged  at  the  shore,  and  could  perceive 
the  stars  reflected  on  the  surface  of  still  water.  Brady 
must  have  moved  more  rapidly  than  I  amid  that  tangle 
of  bushes,  for  I  could  discover  no  trace  of  him  any- 
where. In  my  eagerness  I  ventured  to  signal,  whistling 
a  wild  wood-bird's  note  I  knew  he  would  recognize,  but 
waited  in  vain  for  a  response.  The  dark  woods  opposite 
gave  no  sign,  and,  as  I  searched  them  with  straining  eyes, 
I  caught  glimpse  of  the  distant  Indian  fire,  no  longer 
blazing,  but  merely  a  red  glow  showing  dimly  thro* 
the  night. 

It  was  a  dismal,  lonely  spot,  the  stretch  of  water 
looking  ghastly  in  the  star-shine,  the  upper  limbs  of 
the  great  trees  overhead  sighing  in  the  wind,  and  all 
about  black,  silent  gloom.  An  ill-defined  sense  of  danger 
was  in  my  heart,  of  unknown  peril  lurking  close  at 
hand.  The  black  thickets  were  full  of  terror  and  mys- 
tery. There  arose  before  me  the  dead  face  of  D'Auvray, 
the  skulking  figure  of  his  cowardly  murderer.  Perhaps 
the  latter  was  still  hiding  on  the  island,  crouching  in 
some  dark  covert,  waiting  another  victim;  perhaps  he 
had  even  waylaid  Brady  with  sudden  knife  thrust ;  or,  if 
he  had  departed,  he  might  be  by  now  in  that  encamp- 


I  Take  a  Prisoner 


ment  yonder,  telling  his  lying  story  to  the  easily  aroused 
warriors,  and  exciting  them  to  revenge.  The  glare  of 
that  far-off  fire  told  nothing;  I  could  perceive  no  mov- 
ing figures,  no  sign  of  any  presence.  Somewhere  along 
shore  an  owl  hooted  dismally,  a  mournful  sound  pierc- 
ing the  silence  so  regularly,  as  to  make  me  suspect  it  a 
savage  signal.  Yet  what  could  I  do?  To  remain  there 
was  positively  useless,  and,  with  heart  thumping,  and 
nerves  throbbing,  I  crept  slowly  back  under  the  forest 
shadows  to  the  edge  of  the  clearing. 

From  there  I  could  barely  distinguish  the  outlines 
of  the  log  house  blotted  by  the  dark  woods  beyond. 
Not  a  glimmer  of  light  appeared  between  the  closely 
set  logs,  and,  only  as  I  watched  closely,  could  I  make 
out  the  slight  spiral  of  vapory  smoke  rising  lazily  above 
the  chimney.  However,  as  I  lingered  there  clear  of  the 
woods'  shadow,  my  courage  gradually  returned,  and 
our  situation  appeared  less  desperate.  Whoever  the 
fellow  was  who  had  killed  D'Auvray  he  might  have  as 
much  cause  to  fear  the  Indian  raiders  as  we  did.  The 
mere  fact  that  he  wore  a  red  coat  was  no  direct  proof 
he  was  a  British  soldier;  doubtless  many  a  forest  rene- 
gade had  picked  up  bits  of  discarded  uniform.  Besides, 
why  should  any  soldier  desire  to  kill  D'Auvray?  He 
had  led  his  Indians  to  action  under  Hamilton.  More 
likely  the  fellow  was  French,  and  the  murder  the  end 

[123] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


of  some  private  feud.  His  only  desire  then  would  be  to 
get  away  safely,  to  escape  unseen.  Brady  would  learn 
all  this,  and  he  would  be  back  presently.  He  was  too 
thoroughly  a  woodsman  to  be  taken  by  surprise;  too 
cautious  to  fall  a  victim  to  treachery;  the  slightest 
sound  would  put  him  on  his  guard,  and  send  him  back 
with  ample  warning.  Heartened  by  these  thoughts  I 
circled  the  house  cautiously,  my  rifle  ready,  searching 
the  shadows  with  keen  eyes,  determined  to  remain  out- 
side until  I  should  know  the  whole  truth.  It  would  not 
be  long  —  an  hour,  perhaps  two  —  and,  in  the  mean- 
while, if  the  fellow  was  still  lurking  about,  I  wanted 
to  get  hand  on  him. 

I  do  not  know  how  long  a  time  passed,  only  I  had 
circled  the  house  twice,  skirting  the  edge  of  the  woods 
in  my  rounds,  keeping  well  in  the  blacker  shadows, 
and  moving  noiselessly,  every  nerve  alert.  I  saw  noth- 
ing, heard  nothing,  except  that  distant  hooting  of  an 
owl.  This  had  already  become  so  monotonous  as  to  have 
lost  interest.  Back  of  the  house  I  discovered  a  mound 
of  earth,  heaped  as  a  roof,  over  an  opening  in  the 
ground,  evidently  a  cellar  of  some  kind.  So  far  as  I 
could  discover,  by  groping  in  the  darkness,  there  was 
nothing  concealed  within,  but  the  entrance  offered  a 
good  hiding  place,  and  I  sat  down  there  where  I  could 
see  in  every  direction,  with  my  rifle  across  my  knees. 

[124] 


/  Take  a  Prisoner 


The  stars  yielded  a  spectral  light,  and  no  one  could 
move  across  the  clearing  unobserved.  I  sat  there  for 
ten  minutes,  seeing  and  hearing  nothing,  gradually 
growing  drowsy  in  the  silence,  my  head  sinking  back 
against  the  earth  mound.  Yet  I  remained  awake  and 
watchful,  although,  when  I  first  perceived  a  figure  flit- 
ting out  of  the  black  fringe  of  woods,  I  half  believed  it 
a  dream.  But  it  was  no  dream,  and  I  sat  up  suddenly, 
my  heart  beating  like  a  triphammer,  and  stared.  I 
could  see  little,  not  enough  to  determine  whether  the 
intruder  was  savage  or  white,  merely  perceiving  an  in- 
distinct form,  crouching  low,  yet  advancing  directly 
toward  me.  There  was  no  hesitancy,  no  evidence  of 
fear,  but  merely  the  natural  caution  of  one  traveling 
alone  in  the  wilderness.  At  first,  I  believed  it  to  be 
Brady  returning,  yet  hesitated  to  step  boldly  forth,  for 
the  figure  appeared  small  and  unnatural,  barely  per- 
ceptible against  the  darker  background  of  earth. 

To  render  myself  more  secure  I  drew  cautiously  back 
a  step  within  the  cellar  entrance,  and  waited  breath- 
lessly, bracing  myself  to  meet  either  friend  or  foe.  I 
could  no  longer  see  the  intruder,  and  the  caution  of  his 
approach  made  me  certain  the  man  must  be  an  enemy. 
Surely  Brady,  even  while  exercising  every  precaution, 
would  never  hesitate  like  this,  and  grope  his  way  for- 
ward inch  by  inch.  I  felt  the  hot  blood  leap  in  my  veins ; 

[125] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


then  the  fellow,  still  crouching  low,  but  with  rifle  barrel 
advanced,  appeared  around  the  edge  of  the  pile  of  earth, 
scarcely  two  yards  distant.  All  I  saw  clearly  was  a 
hat  with  a  feather  in  it,  an  indistinct  outline  of  form, 
and  the  black  rifle  barrel.  Yet  the  person  was  not  an 
Indian,  whoever  he  might  be ;  whatever  his  purpose,  he 
was  white.  My  rifle  came  up  to  the  shoulder,  and  I 
slipped  into  the  open. 

"  Stop  where  you  are !  "  I  ordered  sharply.  "  Drop 
your  gun,  and  stand  up  !  " 

I  heard  a  quick  breath  of  surprise,  almost  an  ex- 
clamation ;  the  stock  of  the  rifle  sank  to  the  ground, 
but  the  hands  still  clung  to  the  barrel,  as  the  startled 
figure  straightened  up.  I  could  not  distinguish  the 
face,  only  the  white  outline  shadowed  by  the  hat,  yet 
the  short,  slender  form  was  that  of  a  boy.  The  relief 
at  this  discovery  brought  a  laugh  to  my  lips. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  lad?  "  I  asked.  "  Have  chil- 
dren gone  to  war?  Come,  answer  me;  you  are  no 
savage." 

"  'T  is  not  a  lad  with  whom  you  deal,  Monsieur  Hay- 
ward,"  replied  a  soft  voice,  trembling  a  bit  nevertheless, 
though  attempting  boldness.  "  You  know  me  now  ?  " 

She  flung  the  concealing  hat  into  the  grass,  the  silvery 
light  of  the  stars  on  her  face. 

"  You  here !  you ! "  I  exclaimed  in  swift  surprise  at 
[126] 


I  Take  a  Prisoner 


this  unexpected  denouement,  and  feeling  the  hot  blood 
flush  my  face.  "  How  is  that  possible,  Mademoiselle? 
We  have  traveled  swiftly  —  " 

"  Ay,  but  the  long  way,  Monsieur,"  she  interrupted, 
now  quite  at  her  ease.  "  You  forget  I  know  the  trails ; 
that  I  am  Indian." 

"  And  your  companion  a  renegade,"  I  returned  in- 
stantly, ruffled  at  the  memory.  "  You  came  with 
Girty?" 

She  ventured  to  laugh  lightly  at  my  tone,  and  manner. 

"  We  traveled  together  —  yes.  What  of  that,  Mon- 
sieur? The  wilderness  is  not  a  parlor  where  we  can 
choose  associates.  Did  I  not  warn  you  I  would  come 
with  him  when  you  refused  me  ?  Pardeau !  but  eet  was 
funny  how  I  stole  away  from  the  Americain  Generail. 
He  searches  for  me  yet,  no  doubt,  an'  swear  much.  An* 
you  think  I  did  what  was  wrong?  " 

"I?  "  puzzled  by  her  direct  question.  "What  is  it 
to  me,  Mademoiselle  ?  You  would  not  care  what  I  think. 
Yet  were  you  sister  of  mine  I  would  speak  plainly 
enough ;  we  all  know  what  Simon  Girty  is." 

"  Oh,  no,  Monsieur,  the  Americains  do  not,"  and  her 
voice  rung  with  earnestness.  "  He  is  to  them  an  enemy, 
a  fiend.  He  wars  on  the  other  side,  and  as  the  Indians 
make  war.  Why  not?  He  has  lived  in  our  wigwams, 
and  sat  at  our  council  fires.  He  belongs  with  us,  save 

[127] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


for  the  birthmark  of  a  white  skin.  To  me  he  is  not 
enemy,  but  friend.  I  have  known  him  always,  from 
childhood;  there  is  no  fear  in  my  heart;  did  he  desire, 
he  would  not  dare  harm  me  —  I  am  a  Wyandot." 

The  swift  words  were  a  defiance,  a  challenge. 

"  Have  it  as  you  will,"  I  said  coldly,  "  but  nothing 
you  may  say  will  ever  make  me  think  well  of  that  rene- 
gade." 

"  You !  "  she  exclaimed  passionately.  "  Why  do  you 
say  that,  Joseph  Hay  ward?  Why  do  3rou  keep  up  this 
masquerade  with  me?  We  are  no  longer  at  Fort  Harmar 
where  it  was  safer  for  you  to  guard  your  speech.  I 
knew  you  would  be  here ;  that  was  why  I  came  alone  — 
that  we  might  talk  to  each  other,  and  no  longer  lie." 

I  stared  at  her  face  in  the  starlight,  my  memory 
suddenly  reverting  to  the  dead  man  within. 

"  You  knew  I  would  be  here?  " 

"  I  guessed  it,  and  my  instinct  was  true.  Why  not, 
Monsieur?  You  alone  knew  the  house  was  here,  and 
who  lived  in  it." 


[128] 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MADEMOISELLE   MEETS   HER   FATHEB 

HTIHERE  was  evidently  no  use  of  my  groping  longer 
in  the  dark.  The  girl  was  in  earnest;  she  firmly 
believed  me  to  be  another.  There  could  be  no  under- 
standing between  us  until  this  mystery  of  identity  was 
cleared  away.  Her  discovery  of  me  here  had  only  served 
to  increase  her  hallucination. 

"  Mademoiselle  D'Auvray,"  I  said  earnestly,  and  I 
stood  bare-headed  before  her,  "  there  is  a  serious  mis- 
take being  made.  I  am  not  willing  you  should  deceive 
yourself  any  longer.  I  am  going  to  be  perfectly  frank 
with  you,  and  in  return  I  ask  you  to  be  equally  frank 
with  me.  Who  do  you  believe  me  to  be  ?  " 

She  gazed  straight  into  my  face,  answering: 

"  Monsieur  Joseph  Hayward." 

"  Of  course,"  smiling,  "  you  heard  the  name  at  Fort 
Harmar." 

"  But  I  did  not ;  it  was  never  mentioned  in  my  pres- 
ence. I  recognized  you." 

"  Which  would  imply  that  we  had  met  before,  yet  I 
have  no  recollection,  not  the  faintest,  of  such  a  meet- 
ing. You  are  not  one  it  would  be  easy  to  forget." 

[129] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Unless  one  particularly  desired  to  do  so,"  she  re- 
plied swiftly,  "  and  that  I  am  beginning  to  suspect  is 
the  case."  She  straightened  her  slender  figure,  throw- 
ing back  her  shoulders  and  using  a  clearer  English  than 
before,  as  if  throwing  off  disguise.  "  You  ask  me  to  deal 
with  you  frankly,  Monsieur ;  very  well,  I  will.  Down  in 
my  heart  I  have  never  trusted  you  —  never !  My  father 
did,  and  I  made  pretense  to  please  him.  But  from  our 
first  meeting  my  womanly  instincts  told  me  you  were 
false.  Now  I  know  it!  You  are  not  with  us,  but  with 
our  enemies ;  you  are  a  traitor !  a  spy !  " 

The  words  stung;  they  were  like  the  thrusts  of  a 
knife.  Was  the  girl  insane?  mad? 

"  When  was  that  first  meeting?  "  I  questioned  gravely, 
my  teeth  clinched. 

"  When  was  it  ?  "  she  laughed  unpleasantly,  with  a 
gleam  of  white  teeth.  "  You  ask  that  ?  Am  I  then  in 
your  eyes  a  fool,  Monsieur?  Think  you  I  have  forgot- 
ten so  soon  the  waters  of  the  north,  and  the  lodges  of  the 
Wyandots.  You  were  a  red-coat  then,  and  you  spoke 
French  —  " 

"  But  wait,"  I  interposed.  "  If  I  tell  you  in  all  seri- 
ousness that  I  was  never  in  a  Wyandot  camp,  never 
wore  a  British  uniform,  and  have  no  knowledge  of 
French  —  what  then  ?  " 

She  hesitated  just  an   instant,  yet  took  one   step 
[130] 


Mademoiselle  Meets  Her  Father 

nearer,  so  I  could  see  her  wide-open  dark  eyes  scanning 
my  features.  Whatever  of  doubt  my  words  aroused  de- 
serted her  face  as  she  gazed,  her  lips  curling  in  scorn. 

"  I  should  believe  you  lied,"  she  said  slowly,  "  lied 
deliberately  to  me.  I  may  not  know  your  motive,  yet 
I  might  guess  it  from  what  I  have  seen.  You  can 
deceive  me  no  longer,  Monsieur  —  you  are  an  Americain 
spy.  I  care  not  what  you  think,  or  what  you  say ;  I  de- 
spise you,  hate  you.  If  you  dare  go  on  to  that  council 
of  the  Wyandots  I  will  denounce  you  to  the  chiefs.  I 
tell  you  this  to  your  face.  I  am  a  girl,  but  I  do  not  fear 
you ;  either  turn  back,  or  kill  me,  Joseph  Hayward." 

"  You  call  me  a  spy,"  I  said  soberly,  as  her  breath 
failed,  "  but  I  am  not.  To  me  this  is  all  mystery.  But 
what  about  yourself,  Mademoiselle?  Why  were  you  at 
Fort  Harmar  ?  What  purpose  brought  you  there  ?  " 

"  I  went  there  openly,  and  in  no  disguise,"  she  re- 
plied, restraining  herself  with  an  effort.  "  I  was  not  a 
spy,  nor  a  victim  of  curiosity.  I  told  the  truth  when 
I  said  I  was  seeking  my  father." 

"  Yet  you  left  at  once  to  return  North  without  find- 
ing him  ?  " 

"  Because  I  had  learned  he  was  not  there,  not  in  the 
Americain  forts.  I  heard  the  Generail  tell  it  to  you." 

"  To  me !  the  name  was  not  mentioned.  We  spoke 
only  of  a  Medicine  man  —  Wa-pa-tee-tah." 

[131] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Yes,  the  White  Chief.  He  came  to  the  Wyandots 
with  the  Christ  message.  He  was  there  before  the 
priests,  and  it  is  through  his  efforts  there  has  been 
peace.  Yet  why  should  I  tell  you  all  this?  You  have 
met  him  in  council,  have  eaten  at  his  table,  and  shared 
his  bed.  He  alone  has  stood,  and  blocked  your  plans  of 
war." 

I  did  not  answer.  It  seemed  useless  to  struggle 
against  her  faith  in  my  identity.  I  half  believed  her 
mad;  that  some  trouble  had  left  her  with  disordered 
brain.  Yet  it  was  most  strange,  her  knowing  my  name, 
and  still  associating  me  thus  definitely  with  another. 
That  I  might  outwardly  resemble  some  officer  in  British 
employ  was  not  altogether  impossible,  but  that  he  should 
also  bear  my  name  was  beyond  belief.  Yet  she  was 
positive,  ay!  honest  in  it,  and  only  direct  proof  would 
serve  to  change  her  opinion.  Even  as  I  looked  into  her 
face,  the  hot  indignation  left  me,  to  give  place  to  sym- 
pathy. It  was  her  father  who  lay  dead  —  foully  mur- 
dered—  within  a  few  feet  of  where  we  stood.  And  I 
must  tell  her ;  must  break  the  news.  It  was  a  grim  task 
before  which  I  shrank,  the  words  clinging  to  my  lips. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  said  at  last,  "  let  us  forget  this 
controversy,  this  misunderstanding,  for  it  is  that,  and  be 
friends  for  this  night  at  least.  I  wish  to  help  you, 
and  not  be  held  as  an  enemy.  You  have  been  in  my 

[132] 


Mademoiselle  Meets  Her  Father 

mind  ever  since  we  first  met;  I  have  not  been  able  to 
drive  you  from  memory.  I  must  bring  you  evil  news, 
but  my  heart  is  full  of  kindness  and  sympathy.  You 
will  believe  this  ?  " 

How  white  her  face  was  in  the  starlight,  uplifted 
to  mine.  One  hand  grasped  my  sleeve. 

"News!  evil  news!  of  my  father?" 

"  Of  Raoel  D'Auvray ;  he  was  your  father?  " 

"  Yes  !  you  say  *  was  '?  he  is  dead?  " 

I  caught  the  groping  hand  in  mine,  and  held  it  tightly 
in  the  grasp  of  my  fingers.  She  made  no  movement, 
but  I  could  distinguish  her  quick  breathing,  see  her 
dark  eyes. 

"  Yes ;  you  must  listen  quietly  while  I  tell  you  all  I 
know.  We  reached  here  at  dusk.  There  was  a  band  of 
Indian  raiders  camped  yonder  near  the  foot  of  the  lake, 
and  so  we  crossed  over  to  this  island  to  avoid  them. 
We  stumbled  upon  this  hut  while  seeking  a  camping 
spot.  It  was  dark,  and  apparently  deserted.  The 
front  door  was  latched,  but  unlocked,  and  we  ventured 
inside,  feeling  our  way  through  the  gloom,  until  we 
came  to  a  door  leading  into  the  rear  room.  You  know 
the  arrangement?  " 

She  did  not  respond,  or  remove  her  eyes  from  my 
face. 

"  When  we  opened  this  a  huge  mastiff  leaped  sav- 
[133] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


agely  at  us.  In  the  darkness  he  fastened  his  jaws  on 
Brady's  arm  —  the  scout  with  me  —  and  had  to  be 
killed  by  a  knife  thrust.  Then  we  procured  a  light 
with  which  to  search,  and  found  the  body  of  a  man 
lying  on  the  floor." 

"Dead?" 

"  Murdered ;  his  head  crushed  from  behind  with  an 
axe.  He  was  an  old  man,  with  snow-white  beard." 

"  How  did  you  know  he  was  Raoel  D'Auvray  ?  " 

"  By  this  medal  pinned  to  his  breast,"  I  answered, 
holding  it  forth,  "  a  French  decoration." 

She  grasped  it,  bending  her  head  so  as  to  see  better, 
and,  for  a  moment,  her  slender  form  shook  with  an  emo- 
tion she  could  not  restrain.  Involuntarily  I  rested  a 
hand  upon  her  shoulder,  but  the  touch  aroused  her, 
and  she  stepped  back,  standing  erect. 

"  The  medal  was  his ;  he  always  wore  it.  But  was 
that  all  ?  Was  nothing  else  found  ?  " 

"  There  was  a  red  army  jacket  flung  across  a  box; 
but  while  we  were  eating  later  in  the  other  room,  some- 
one stole  in  through  the  back  door,  and  carried  that 
away.'* 

She  raised  her  hands  to  her  head,  with  a  gesture  of 
despair. 

"I  —  I  believe  part  of  what  you  have  told  me,"  she 
confessed,  her  voice  trembling.  "It  —  it  is  in  my 

[134] 


Mademoiselle  Meets  Her  Father 

heart  to  believe  all,  but  —  but  I  cannot.  You  are  not 
telling  me  the  truth  —  not  all  the  truth.  You  knew  of 
this  house ;  you  —  you  came  here  deliberately,  and  -** 
and  brought  your  men  with  you." 

"  I  deny  that,  Mademoiselle.  We  stumbled  upon 
the  place  by  accident." 

"  Oh,  you  drive  me  crazy  with  your  denials ! "  she 
exclaimed  passionately.  "  I  will  not  listen  longer.  You 
are  Joseph  Hayward;  you  admit  that  yourself.  No! 
do  not  talk  to  me,  or  attempt  to  stop  me!  I  am  going 
to  my  —  my  father." 

I  stood  aside  and  let  her  pass,  yet  followed  as  she 
entered  the  door.  The  interior  was  black,  except  for 
a  slight  glow  as  from  a  dying  fire  showing  dimly  thro* 
the  inner  door.  The  dead  dog  lay  shapeless  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor,  and  she  stopped,  staring  at  the  grim 
shadow. 

"  I  will  bring  light,"  I  said  gently,  "  if  you  can  per- 
mit me  to  pass." 

She  stepped  aside,  without  answering,  holding  back 
her  short  skirt,  as  though  seeking  thus  to  avoid  all  con- 
tact. I  stepped  over  the  dog  into  the  other  room,  hurt 
beyond  words  at  the  action,  yet  holding  a  grip  on  my 
temper.  The  fire  was  a  mere  smouldering  bed  of  em- 
bers, and  Schultz,  stretched  out  on  the  bench,  a  pack 
for  a  pillow,  was  sleeping  soundly.  The  very  sight  of 

[135] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


his  round,  cherubic  face,  upturned  and  placid,  brought 
back  my  good  humor  instantly.  With  difficulty  I  ig- 
nited again  the  bit  of  pine  we  had  utilized  as  a  torch, 
and,  with  it  blazing  brightly,  returned  to  the  other  room, 
leaving  the  fellow  undisturbed. 

"  Why  that  torch  ?  "  she  questioned.  "  Are  there  no 
candles  on  the  shelf?  " 

*'  What  shelf?  over  there?  I  had  not  thought  to  look." 

"  You  had  not !  "  her  eyes  seemed  full  of  wonder. 
"  Why,  you  knew  they  were  always  kept  there." 

Her  gaze  followed  me  curiously  while  I  found  one, 
and  lighted  it,  but  as  the  yellow  flame  illumined  the 
small  room,  again  deserted  me,  to  rest  once  more  upon 
the  motionless  figure  lying  near  the  wall,  which  Brady 
had  mercifully  covered  with  a  blanket.  She  stood  still, 
her  hands  clasped,  her  face  like  marble.  Still  holding 
the  candle  in  one  hand,  I  bent  down,  and  drew  back 
gently  the  edge  of  the  blanket,  exposing  the  dead  man's 
face  and  white  beard.  In  spite  of  his  violent  death  the 
features  were  composed,  in  no  way  distorted;  he  ap- 
peared like  one  lying  there  asleep.  For  a  moment  the 
girl  never  stirred,  her  attitude  strained,  her  wide-open, 
tearless  eyes  on  the  peaceful  upturned  countenance.  It 
seemed  to  me  she  had  even  ceased  to  breathe.  Then 
she  sank  slowly  upon  her  knees  beside  the  body,  her  head 
close  to  the  cold  cheek. 

[136] 


Mademoiselle  Meets  Her  Father 

"  Father !  Father !  "  she  sobbed,  as  if  in  sudden 
realization  of  the  truth.  "  It  is  you !  " 

Her  hat  had  fallen  to  the  floor,  and  her  wealth  of 
dark  hair  unloosened  completely  hid  her  face.  She 
had  forgotten  my  presence;  everything  but  her  grief. 
I  drew  back  silently,  stuck  the  sputtering  candle  on  a 
box,  where  it  burned  bravely,  and  left  the  room.  As  I 
glanced  back  from  the  doorway,  odd  shadows  flickered 
along  the  walls,  and  she  still  knelt  there,  a  vague,  indis- 
tinct figure.  In  the  other  room  I  found  a  chair,  and 
sat  down,  staring  dumbly  into  the  smouldering  fire. 


[  137  1 


MADEMOISELLE  S   STOEY 

T  N  the  intense  silence,  the  gloom  of  that  room  lit  only 
by  those  smouldering  embers,  with  Schultz  sleeping 
undisturbed  against  the  wall,  my  thought  could  not 
be  divorced  from  the  lonely  girl  sobbing  above  her 
dead.  I  was  tired,  every  muscle  aching,  and  each  nerve 
throbbing  with  pain,  yet  never  was  my  brain  more  ac- 
tive, or  sleepless.  The  sudden  cry  which  had  burst  from 
her  lips,  thrilling  with  inexpressible  anguish,  the  press- 
ing of  her  warm  cheek  against  his  cold  flesh,  the  unre- 
pressed  sobs  shaking  her  slender  form,  had  brought  to 
me  instantly  a  new  conception  of  this  girl  of  the  wilder- 
ness. She  was  no  longer  a  wild  thing,  reckless,  half 
savage,  possibly  treacherous,  but  a  woman,  actuated  by 
love,  tender-hearted  and  true.  For  a  time  it  blotted  out 
the  past,  even  the  dark  stain  of  Indian  blood,  the  mis- 
understandings, the  inconsistency.  I  remembered  only 
her  grief,  her  swift  surrender  to  tears. 

Yet  the  misunderstandings  came  back  haunting  me 
like  so  many  ghosts;  the  mystery  grew  darker  as  I 
pondered.  Even  the  memory  of  her  face  flickered  before 
my  eyes,  never  appearing  twice  alike  —  now  alluring, 

[139] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


and  again  repellant.  Was  she  of  dual  nature,  womanly 
and  savage  by  turn,  as  the  instincts  of  two  races  domi- 
nated her  action  ?  Yet  this  could  never  account  for  her 
distrust  of  me,  her  continued  insistence  upon  having 
previously  known  me.  Ay!  and  she  meant  it!  There 
was  no  attempt  at  deceit,  no  acting  in  all  this ;  her  full 
faith  in  the  charge  was  written  upon  her  face,  found 
echo  upon  her  lips.  She  believed  me  to  be  another  man, 
a  pretended  British  officer,  a  traitor  to  her  people,  a 
scoundrelly  spy.  Yet  she  applied  to  him  my  name. 
That  was  the  strangest  part  of  it  all.  For  the  moment, 
sitting  there  my  face  in  my  hands,  I  was  almost  again 
persuaded  she  was  insane;  that  some  ghostly  hallucina- 
tion had  taken  subtle  possession  of  her  mind.  But  no, 
that  could  not  be.  The  very  memory  of  the  girl  drove 
away  the  vague  suspicion ;  it  was  unbelievable.  A  thou- 
sand questions  surged  into  my  mind,  no  one  of  which 
I  could  answer- — who  was  she?  What  had  been  her 
life?  How  could  the  black  wilderness  bring  forth  such 
a  flower?  Why  did  D'Auvray  lead  his  life  of  exile 
among  savages?  What  would  the  daughter  do  now 
that  he  was  dead?  Could  it  be  true  she  was  of  Indian 
blood?  A  Wyandot?  Even  so,  how  could  such  as  she, 
with  her  education,  her  knowledge  of  civilization,  her 
refinement  and  beauty,  be  content  with  a  life  in  the 
wigwam?  What  purpose,  what  object  could  compen- 

[140] 


Mademoiselle's  Story 


sate  for  such  a  sacrifice  as  this  must  involve?  And  who 
was  this  man,  this  other  Joseph  Hayward,  if  such  really 
existed,  with  whom  she  confounded  me?  What  was 
he  to  her?  to  her  father?  Could  he  have  been  the  mur- 
derer? Could  it  have  been  his  red  jacket  that  lay 
there,  forgotten  in  flight,  certain  evidence  of  goiilt? 

I  arose  to  my  feet,  and  strode  nervously  across  the 
floor.  These  questions  had  driven  from  my  mind  all 
recollection  of  where  I  was,  of  my  surroundings  —  the 
gloomy  black  forest,  the  starlit  lake  without,  the  flame 
of  the  distant  camp,  of  Brady  skulking  in  the  gloom, 
the  leagues  of  circling  woods  about  us  Indian  haunted 
and  treacherous,  the  council  of  the  tribes  toward  which 
we  journeyed.  She  had  said  the  dead  man  —  her  father 
—  was  Wa-pa-tee-tah.  Then  why  should  we  go  on  ?  Our 
mission  to  the  North  was  ended ;  we  bore  no  longer  any 
message  for  the  Wyandots.  But  could  I  desert  her? 
Could  I  now  turn  coldly  back  with  this  mystery  un- 
solved, these  questions  unanswered?  Could  I  leave  her 
unprotected  and  alone  to  drift  back  once  more  to  the 
life  of  a  savage?  Yet,  after  all,  what  else  was  there  to 
do?  She  possessed  no  faith,  no  confidence  in  me;  she 
would  never  believe  even  what  I  had  to  tell.  Neverthe- 
less I  would  tell  it  —  yes !  and  somehow  compel  her  to 
believe !  I  stood  up  straight,  and  determined,  my  course 
of  action  mapped  out.  Here,  now,  this  very  night,  as 

[141] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


soon  as  her  first  grief  had  subsided,  and  she  should 
again  come  to  me,  I  would  tell  her  the  whole  truth,  in- 
sist upon  her  doing  the  same,  and  then  speak  to  her  of 
the  future.  There  should  be  no  faltering  of  words,  no 
further  concealment  between  us.  I  could  do  no  less; 
as  a  man  I  could  do  no  less,  and  —  and,  somehow,  out 
of  that  back  room,  out  of  its  shadows,  loneliness  and 
death,  she  seemed  calling  to  me,  this  maiden  of  the 
forest. 

Even  as  I  stared  toward  the  open  door,  the  girl  herself 
appeared,  outlined  against  the  candle  flame.  She  had 
bound  up  the  loosened  strands  of  hair,  and  her  dark 
eyes,  dry  and  tearless,  looked  straight  at  me.  I  doubt 
if  she  saw  Schultz  at  all  as  she  came  forward,  stop- 
ping only  as  her  hand  finally  touched  the  table.  As  I 
watched  her,  my  earlier  determination  died  within  me; 
I  could  only  wait  in  silence  for  her  to  speak. 

"  Joseph  Hayward,"  she  said  slowly,  the  words  rasp- 
ing a  little  with  her  effort  at  self-control.  "  You  con- 
fess to  that  name,  do  you  not?  " 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle,"  I  answered,  my  lips  dry,  my 
eyes  riveted  on  her  face. 

* 

"  Yet  you  still  claim  not  to  be  the  same  Joseph  Hay- 
ward  whom  I  have  known  ?  " 

"  I  am  an  ensign  in  the  army  of  the  United  States, 
and  have  never  worn  a  red  coat.'* 
[142] 


Mademoiselle's  Story 


She  smiled,  but  the  smile  was  not  altogether  pleasant. 
Then  she  said  slowly,  "  Very  well ;  have  it  so  then.  I  do 
not  in  the  least  believe  you,  but  am  going  to  speak  ex- 
actly as  if  I  did.  I  am  a  girl,  alone,  and  must  turn  to 
you  for  help.  It  makes  no  difference  now  if  I  am  of 
Indian  blood  and  ancestry,  I  am  here  alone  with  you.  I 
have  got  to  trust  you,  rely  upon  your  word,  ask  your 
aid.  You  claim  to  know  nothing  of  me,  or  mine.  That 
there  may  be  no  possible  mistake  I  will  tell  you  —  tell 
you  about  him,"  she  pointed  backward,  with  her  hand, 
her  voice  breaking,  "  and  —  and  about  myself.  You 
shall  know  all,  and  then  you  will  dare  pretend  ignorance 
no  longer.  Listen,  Monsieur.  The  man  lying  dead  yon- 
der—  murdered  —  was  my  father." 

She  leaned  forward,  resting  her  hands  on  the  table, 
for  support,  the  veins  in  her  throat  throbbing.  Then, 
apparently  for  the  first  time,  she  perceived  the  recum- 
bent figure  lying  on  the  bench,  and  stopped  suddenly. 

"Who  is  that?" 

"  The  soldier  with  us,  a  Dutchman  named  Schultz." 

"He  is  asleep?" 

"  Yes ;  there  is  no  danger  from  him.  He  cannot  even 
understand  English  unless  it  be  spoken  slowly,  and, 
from  what  I  know  of  him,  no  ordinary  noise  will  ever 
wake  him." 

She  hesitated,  irresolute,  her  eyes  still  on  the  un- 
[143] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


conscious  sleeper.  Then  she  seemed  to  master  herself, 
the  expression  of  her  face  changing  as  she  looked  once 
again  toward  me. 

"  I  wish  you  would  at  least  confess  a  knowledge  of 
my  tongue,"  she  almost  pleaded.  "  It  is  not  in  Eng- 
lish I  think,  Monsieur,  and  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  speak 
in  that  language." 

"  It  would  be  a  pleasure  to  confess  anything  that 
would  aid  you,"  I  replied  politely.  "  But  I  possess 
small  understanding  of  French." 

Her  eyes  darkened  indignantly,  and  she  made  a  force- 
ful gesture  indicative  of  her  true  thought  of  me. 

"  You  continue  to  act  your  part  well,"  she  said  scorn- 
fully, "  even  when  there  is  no  longer  a  necessity.  Bah ! 
I  despise  this  play  acting!  it  is  unworthy  a  soldier. 
So  you  would  have  me  tell  over  what  you  already  know ; 
you  would  make  me  stand  here  and  suffer  —  " 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  interrupted  swiftly,  "  I  ask  noth- 
ing. All  I  seek  is  the  opportunity  of  service.  There 
is  no  truth  I  am  going  to  deny.  To  prove  it  I  will  say 
this  —  you  have  remained  in  my  memory  since  the  first 
hour  we  met.  I  desire  your  trust,  your  friendship; 
whatever  you  may  tell  me  will  be  held  sacred,  inviolate. 
I  will  serve  you  though  you  speak  no  word,  give  no 
explanation.  I  beg  the  privilege." 

I  thought  she  would  never  speak,  standing  there  be- 


Mademoiselle's  Story 


fore  me  in  the  dim  light,  swaying  slightly,  her  bosom 
rising  and  falling  with  quick  breathing.  A  great  sym- 
pathy welled  up  in  my  heart,  and  all  unconsciously,  I 
extended  my  hands.  She  must  have  seen  them,  but  she 
made  no  response,  but  the  glitter  of  unshed  tears  was 
in  her  eyes. 

"I  —  I  do  not  know,"  she  faltered  hesitatingly, 
"  what  to  think  of  you.  This  is  such  a  strange  puzzle. 
Sometimes  I  almost  believe  what  you  tell  me,  even  though 
I  know  it  to  be  untrue.  You  are  the  man  I  claim  you  to 
be;  there  is  no  doubt  of  that,"  her  voice  firmer  with 
determination.  "  I  would  swear  to  that  before  a  coun- 
cil of  my  people ;  you  bear  his  name,  you  have  his  face 
and  form.  There  cannot  possibly  be  two  of  such  won- 
derful resemblance.  Yet,  Mon  Dieu!  there  is  that  about 
you,  Monsieur,  that  I  never  observed  in  him  —  some 
strange  quality  which  gives  me  faith,  which  awakens 
trust.  I  —  I  almost  believe  you,  almost  doubt  the 
reality  of  my  eyesight.  It  angers  me  to  be  such  a  fool." 
She  pressed  one  hand  to  her  temple,  as  if  thus  sweeping 
away  every  false  impression,  and  stood  erect,  the  mo- 
mentarily softness  gone  from  her  face. 

"  What  is  the  use  of  our  talking  like  this  ?  "  she  went 
on  impetuously.  "  'T  is  as  though  we  exchanged 
compliments  in  Montreal.  Instead  we  are  in  the  wilder- 
ness, with  danger  all  about  us.  You  are  what  you  are, 

[145] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


Monsieur,  and  I  am  a  woman  of  the  Wyandots.  Let  all 
else  pass ;  I  care  nothing  whether  your  thought  of  me 
be  good  or  evil.  I  am  what  I  am ;  what  birth  and  con- 
ditions have  made  me.  All  I  appeal  to  in  you  is  whatever 
of  manhood  you  may  still  retain.  I  tell  you  my  story, 
because  you  swear  you  know  it  not ;  then  listen,  and  you 
shall.  No,  do  not  move,  but  hear  me;  I  would  not  do 
this  without  a  reason." 

She  glanced  aside  at  Schultz,  and  then  into  the  red 
embers  of  the  fire,  her  eyes  coming  slowly  back  to  rest 
on  my  face. 

"  I  am  Rene  D'Auvray,  and  my  father  lies  dead  there 
in  the  next  room.  He  was  all  I  had  in  the  world,  yet  I 
knew  little  enough  of  him.  He  spoke  seldom  of  his  past 
life  even  to  me.  Still,  I  have  much  reason  to  believe 
that  in  his  younger  days  he  was  intimate  at  the  French 
Court.  I  know  he  was  a  soldier,  an  officer  of  the  King's 
guard,  decorated  for  bravery.  He  never  told  me  why 
he  was  exiled  to  this  land,  buried  in  the  far  wilderness, 
made  a  companion  of  savages.  I  never  asked,  although 
my  heart  ached  to  do  so,  for  he  was  not  a  man  to  be 
questioned  lightly,  and  I  early  learned  that  the  very 
thought  brought  him  pain.  But  I  know  this,  for  I  saw 
a  letter  once,  a  yellow,  creased  letter,  which  I  think  he 
purposely  mislaid  hoping  I  would  see.  He  wanted  me 
to  know,  yet  had  not  the  heart  to  tell  me.  It  was  from 

[146] 


Mademoiselle's  Siorif 


a  French  comrade  in  arms,  and  there  was  a  crest  on  the 
paper,  and  a  great  name  signed.  I  wept  as  I  read,  for 
the  writer  loved  the  man  to  whom  he  told  the  story, 
and  the  words  came  warm  from  his  heart.  Whatever 
else  you  may  know  of  us,  Monsieur  Joseph  Hayward, 
you  have  never  known  this.  It  was  because  of  a  lady 
my  father  loved,  a  relative  of  the  King.  For  her  sake 
he  fought  the  Prince  de  Millier,  and  killed  him  in  the 
royal  garden.  It  was  a  fair  fight,  but  the  King  saw 
it  not  so,  for  it  disarranged  his  plans,  and  my  father 
had  to  flee  France  to  save  his  life.  Then  was  he  pro- 
scribed, a  price  set  upon  his  head." 

She  paused,  and  sank  into  a  chair,  bowing  her  face 
upon  the  table.  I  stood  silent,  unable  to  speak,  the 
sound  of  her  voice  still  in  my  ears.  She  looked  up 
again,  dashing  her  hand  across  her  eyes. 

"  I  must  be  far  more  French  than  Indian  to  become 
so  weak,"  she  explained,  ashamed  of  the  emotion.  "  'T  is 
the  memory  of  him  lying  yonder,  Monsieur,  with  no 
word  —  no  last  word  —  for  me.  So  it  was  he  came  to 
America,  but  they  would  not  let  him  rest  in  either  Que- 
bec or  Montreal.  They  drove  him  forth  into  the  woods, 
into  the  camps  of  Indians.  He  told  me  once  about  those 
days ;  of  how  he  traversed  the  black  waters  of  the  Ottawa 
and  met  hardships  on  the  great  lakes,  his  companions 
voyageurs  and  couriers  des  bois,  his  only  means  of  sup- 

[147] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


port  the  furs  he  could  send  back  to  Montreal.  But  he 
might  not  venture  there  himself,  but  was  doomed  forever 
to  a  life  beyond  civilization.  His  associations  would 
have  brutalized  him,  made  him  a  fit  denizen  of  those 
wilds,  turned  him  also  into  a  savage,  but  for  one  thing 
—  he  was  a  fervent  Catholic.  It  was  this  which  kept 
him  ever  gentle,  sweet  and  strong.  He  possessed  the 
passion  to  save  souls ;  he  became  an  evangel  to  the  In- 
dians among  whom  he  lived.  He  was  at  Mackinac  and 
Green  Bay;  he  told  the  Pottawattomies  of  Christ,  but 
they  cast  him  out;  he  traveled  to  the  villages  of  the 
Illinois,  but  the  Jesuits  were  already  there,  and  gave 
him  no  welcome.  At  last  he  found  a  home  with  the 
Wyandots.  At  first  the  task  was  not  easy,  for  they 
were  a  savage  people.  They  had  tortured  Jesuit  priests 
at  the  stake,  and  flogged  the  Recollets  who  came  also. 
But  my  father  won  their  confidence ;  he  went  forth  with 
them  to  battle ;  he  went  with  them  against  their  enemies, 
and  so  they  finally  listened  to  what  he  said.  He  became 
Wa-pa-tee-tah,  the  White  Chief,  and  taught  them  of 
Christ  Jesus.  They  became  Christians  because  they 
were  proud  of  him.  He  accomplished  what  the  priests 
could  not  do,  and  kept  the  tribe  at  peace  with  the 
whites.  The  English  came,  and  hated  him,  for  he  would 
not  enter  into  their  schemes,  nor  permit  his  people  to. 
Only  once  did  he  lead  them  to  war,  against  your  Gen- 

[148] 


Mademoiselle's  Story 


eral  Clark  at  Vincennes.  Are  you  a  Catholic,  Mon- 
sieur ?  " 

I  made  the  sign  of  the  cross. 

"  We  were  of  that  faith  in  Maryland." 

Her  eyes  lighted  up. 

"  I  know  not  Maryland,  but  I  am  glad,  for  I  never 
before  asked  your  religion.  Shall  I  go  on?  " 

"  It  is  of  deep  interest.*' 

"  Truly !  It  seems  foolish  for  me  to  repeat  that  with 
which  you  are  already  partly  acquainted;  only  I  must 
tell  it  all,  or  none  at  all,  for  you  will  not  admit  how 
much  you  may  know.  But  I  will  hurry.  Exiled  and 
lonely,  abandoning  all  hope  of  ever  returning  to  France, 
or  even  civilization,  my  father  finally,  to  increase  his 
influence  with  the  tribe,  took  for  wife  a  woman  of  the 
Wyandots.  Although  I  was  born  of  that  union,  yet  I 
never  saw  my  mother,  who  died  when  I  was  but  a  babe. 
I  am  told  she  was  of  fair  complexion,  but  jet  black  hair 
and  eyes,  the  daughter  of  a  French  trader  and  Indian 
mother,  able  to  read  and  write.  My  father  loved  her, 
and  taught  her  much  that  he  had  learned  in  early  life. 
When  she  died  he  seemed  to  change,  to  lose  interest 
in  the  past,  to  cease  to  dream  longer  of  Europe.  He 
became  more  fully  a  Wyandot.  I  was  brought  up  in  the 
camps  of  the  tribe,  living  in  their  wigwams,  sharing  in 
their  prosperity  and  adversity.  I  played  with  Indian 

[149] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


children,  and  was  cared  for  by  Indian  women.  I  must 
have  been  ten  years  old,  Monsieur,  before  I  first  realized 
that  I  was  mainly  of  white  blood,  of  another  race.  Yet 
when  this  knowledge  came  it  brought  with  it  sudden 
ambition." 

Her  eyes  were  upon  the  fire  now,  and  her  voice  had 
lost  its  harshness. 

"  I  remember  when  I  went  to  my  father  —  it  was  in 
a  camp  on  the  shores  of  the  great  lake  —  and  made 
him  tell  me  more  of  his  own  life,  and  the  life  of  my 
mother.  What  he  said  opened  before  me  a  fairyland. 
I  began  to  dream  and  hope.  He  taught  me  the  French 
tongue,  and  all  the  scraps  of  learning  his  memory  re- 
tained. He  sent  to  Quebec  for  books,  and  we  studied 
them  together.  When  I  was  sixteen  he  sent  me  to 
Montreal,  to  the  convent  of  the  Ursulines,  and  I  was 
there  three  years.  Then  —  then  the  Indian  blood  con- 
quered, and  I  came  back.  The  woods  called  me,  and 
my  father;  besides,"  she  made  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
"  God  called  me  to  the  work  I  had  to  do." 

"  An  Indian  missionary?  " 

"  To  my  own  people.  No !  I  was  of  no  Order  —  what 
was  that?  " 

She  arose  to  her  feet  listening. 


[150] 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   RETURN   OF   BRADY 

r  1 1  HERE  was  utter  silence,  except  for  the  heavy 
breathing  of  the  soldier  still  sound  asleep  on  the 
bench.  I  could  distinguish  no  noise  without. 

"  It  was  like  a  cry,  faint  from  a  distance,"  she  said, 
at  last,  "  but  I  hear  nothing  now.  Did  you  catch  it, 
Monsieur?  " 

"  I  heard  only  your  voice." 

"  Then  I  may  have  been  deceived,  although  I  have  the 
ears  of  an  Indian." 

She  sat  down  again,  her  hands  clasped  on  the  table. 

"  You  will  resume,  Mademoiselle  ?  " 

The  long  lashes  lifted,  and  her  eyes  met  mine. 

"  There  is  little  more.  That  was  my  life,  just  the 
villages  of  the  Wyandots,  in  the  great  forests,  and  on 
the  lake  shore.  I  was  a  teacher  of  Christ  to  my  people,, 
and  they  loved  me.  I  must  have  helped  some,  yet  I 
hardly  know.  The  cross  is  not  to  them  what  it  is  to 
those  of  white  blood  and  ancestry.  Jesuits  came,  but 
the  Wyandots  would  only  listen  to  my  father  and  me. 
They  drove  all  the  others  away,  but  had  faith  in  us 
because  we  belonged  there.  I  lived  the  Indian  life,  fol- 

[151] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


lowed  the  forest  trails,  paddled  canoes  on  the  rivers, 
and  slept  in  the  tepees.  Almost  had  I  forgotten  that 
I  was  of  another  race.  As  time  passed  I  saw  less  and 
less  of  my  father.  He  became  silent  and  discouraged, 
yet  only  more  fervent  in  zeal.  He  would  travel  from 
tribe  to  tribe,  or  disappear  for  weeks  at  a  time  seeking 
solitude.  He  built  this  hut  with  his  own  hands,  that  he 
might  be  alone  here.  Occasionally  he  let  me  go  with  him 
on  his  visits  to  other  nations,  and  twice  I  accompanied 
him  to  this  island.  But  for  months  and  months  I  was 
left  alone  in  the  villages  of  the  Wyandots.  Then  the 
English  agents  came,  and  the  tribe  made  war  against 
the  Americains." 

She  stopped  suddenly. 

"  Monsieur,  you  know  the  rest." 

Some  sound  caused  me  to  wheel  about,  and  I  faced 
Brady,  who  had  just  stepped  within  and  closed  the 
door.  His  gray  eyes  surveyed  us  in  one  swift  glance, 
settling  inquiringly  on  the  girl,  who  had  arisen  to  her 
feet.  Schultz  awakened,  sat  up  on  the  bench,  blinking 
sleepily. 

"Brady?" 

"  Of  course ;  and  who  have  you  here,  Master  Hay- 
ward?  A  woman  surely,  by  dress  Indian,  and  by  face 
white." 

"  This  is  Mademoiselle  D'Auvray,"  I  replied,  not 
[152] 


The  Return  of  Brady 


liking  his  manner  of  speech,  "  the  daughter  of  the  man 
we  found  here  dead." 

"  She  was  not  in  the  house  when  I  left.  Oh,  I  re- 
member! the  same  perchance  who  was  at  Fort  Harmar, 
the  one  you  told  me  about,  and  who  threatened  to  follow 
us  with  Simon  Girty.  Truly,  she  must  have  kept  her 
word,  for  that  black  renegade  is  here." 

"  Here !    Girty?  you  saw  him?  " 

"  Ay !  in  the  Indian  camp  out  yonder.  Nor  was  that 
all  I  saw.  There  is  something  savage  on  foot,  or  I  am 
no  woodsman.  I  thought  those  devils  might  have  other 
quarry,  and  come  back  here  to  lie  quiet  in  hiding,  but 
I  am  not  so  sure  now  that  we  are  not  the  ones  sought. 
This  girl  belongs  with  them." 

She  stepped  past  me,  and  stood  erect  facing  him,  the 
dark  eyes  frankly  meeting  the  gray.  In  the  dull  light, 
she  looked  wondrously  fair,  her  upturned  face  deli- 
cately chiselled  and  refined. 

"  Yet  I  am  not  one  of  them,"  she  said  slowly  in  her 
careful  English.  "  I  am  Wyandot ;  those  you  saw  are 
Miamis  and  Ojibwas,  thieves  and  murderers.  My  peo- 
ple are  Christian,  and  are  not  at  war." 

"  You  were  with  them ;  with  Girty,"  he  insisted,  but 
in  somewhat  kinder  tone.  "  You  came  here  direct  from 
their  camp." 

"  Yes,  Monsieur  Brady,  but  unknown  to  them,  even  to 
[153] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


Girty  himself.  They  know  me  —  the  Miamis  —  and  I 
have  no  fear  even  of  their  young  men  when  painted  for 
war.  She  spoke  simply,  clearly,  as  if  she  would  conceal 
nothing.  "  This  was  my  father's  cabin.  No  one  knew 
of  it  but  me  —  not  even  Simon  Girty.  It  was  reported 
at  Fort  Harmar  that  he  was  dead ;  I  did  not  know,  yet 
it  was  that  vague  report  which  made  me  so  eager  to  get 
back  to  my  own  people ;  made  me  reckless  enough  to  risk 
the  trail  in  company  with  the  white  renegade.  I  do  not 
fear,  but  I  despise  him.  I  knew  the  woods  better  than 
he,  and  guided  our  course  that  I  might  visit  this  island 
in  search  of  my  father.  It  was  my  thought  he  might 
be  hiding  here  alone.  Yesterday  we  came  upon  that 
raiding  party,  and  must  needs  join  them  as  they  jour- 
neyed our  way." 

"  What  settlements  had  they  attacked  ?  " 

"  Those  of  the  Moravians ;  they  had  scalps  and 
booty." 

"  And  their  chief?  " 

"Black  Horse,  an  outlaw  of  the  Ojibwas;  Girty 
knew  him." 

"  Ay !  he  '11  likely  know  all  the  dogs  of  that  breed," 
the  frontiersman  growled  sullenly.  "  Some  of  those 
scalps  were  of  women." 

"  Yes,"  her  voice  low,  regretful,  "  and  they  had 
with  them  a  prisoner  for  torture,  a  preacher  of  the 

[154] 


Protestants."  She  crossed  herself.  "  I  talked  with 
him,  or  tried  to,  for  we  could  not  understand  each 
other.  At  sight  of  my  rosary  he  drew  back  in  horror." 

"  Our  Dutch  friend  here  would  be  far  more  apt  to 
reach  his  ear,"  admitted  Brady  scornfully.  "  They 
would  hobnob  together,  no  doubt.  You  say  the  band  is 
composed  of  outlaws  ?  " 

"The  Ojibwas,  yes;  the  others  are  young  Miami 
warriors  out  hunting,  who  met  Black  Horse,  and  were 
persuaded  to  join  him.  'T  is  their  influence  which  has 
saved  the  preacher  from  the  stake." 

"You  left  them  when?" 

"  I  hardly  know,  Monsieur,"  glancing  toward  me, 
"  perhaps  two  hours  ago ;  I  had  forgotten  time.  They 
kept  no  guard,  for  there  had  been  no  pursuit,  nor  any 
sign  of  danger.  It  was  easy  to  slip  away  unseen.  None 
among  them  knew  of  this  place,  not  even  Girty,  and  I 
came  alone.  There  was  nothing  for  me  to  fear;  I  knew 
the  way,  and  I  had  faith  I  should  find  my  father." 

"  This  is  the  truth?  the  whole  truth?  " 

"  Out,  Monsieur,"  and  bowed  her  head. 

"  Then  you  know  nothing  of  any  new  arrivals  at  the 
camp  ?  There  were  some  expected  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  not,"  her  aroused  interest  apparent  in 
her  voice.  "  Did  others  j  oin  them  ?  who  were  they, 
Monsieur?  " 

[155] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


Brady  looked  at  her  searchingly,  leaning  on  his  gun, 
the  lines  of  his  face  stern.  I  could  not  forbear  stepping 
forward  beside  her. 

"  Never  you  mind  speaking,  Master  Hayward,"  he 
said  shortly.  "  The  girl  needs  no  defender ;  I  believe 
what  she  says.  Now  listen,  both  of  you,  and  see  what 
you  make  of  it.  I  was  within  twenty  yards  of  their 
camp,  at  the  edge  of  the  underbrush,  and  could  see 
clearly  all  that  occurred  about  the  fire.  There  was  no 
guard  set,  but  the  prisoner  lay  between  two  Indians,  so 
that  any  attempt  at  rescue  was  impossible.  I  could  not 
tell  just  how  many  were  in  the  band,  for  some  were  lying 
well  back  beyond  the  range  of  light.  I  saw  Girty,  how- 
ever, get  up  and  put  wood  on  the  flame.  I  had  sight 
drawn  on  the  devil,  yet  dared  not  fire.  Then  he  lay  down 
again,  and  I  crept  around  toward  where  he  had  disap- 
peared, thinking  I  might  use  a  knife  to  rid  the  world  of 
such  a  beast.  But  before  I  could  reach  him  there  came 
along  the  shore  a  considerable  body  of  Indians.  The 
sand  made  no  sound,  and  they  passed  so  close  to  where  I 
lay  one  fellow  stepped  upon  my  hand.  Yet  they  passed 
by,  trooping  into  the  camp,  and  I  counted  thirty." 

"  Of  what  tribe,  Monsieur  ?  " 

"  From  the  Wabash.  I  caught  words  in  the  language 
of  the  Shawnees.  They  had  a  white  man  with  them." 

"A  prisoner?  " 

[156] 


"  No ;  he  talked  with  Girty  in  English,  and  then  to 
the  savages  in  their  own  tongue.  I  could  only  catch  a 
word  now  and  then  I  could  understand,  but  he  pointed 
toward  the  island,  and  seemed  to  urge  them  this  way.  I 
dared  not  stay  there  longer,  for  fear  I  should  be  too 
late,  and  so  crept  backward,  and  got  away." 

She  stepped  forward  and  grasped  his  arm. 

"  What  was  the  white  man  like,  Monsieur?  You  saw 
his  face?  " 

"  No ;  never  once  did  he  front  the  fire.  I  heard  his 
voice,  and  could  see  the  outline  of  his  figure.  He  was  a 
big  fellow,  not  unlike  the  Ensign  here,  and  he  wore  a 
red  coat." 

For  one  moment  she  stood  motionless,  one  hand 
pressed  against  her  temple,  the  other  grasping  his 
sleeve.  The  cheek  toward  me  flamed  red. 

"  You  —  you  are  sure  ?  "  she  faltered.  "  He  —  he 
looked  like  that?  " 

"  Yes,  Mademoiselle,"  his  tone  that  of  surprise.  "  It 
was  dark  but  I  could  see  that." 

"And  this  man  is  really  an  Americain  officer?"  her 
dark  eyes  flashing  toward  me.  "  He  has  never  been  in 
the  North  before?" 

A  grim  smile  curled  Brady's  lips,  as  his  keen  gray 
eyes  swept  over  the  two  of  us. 

"  I  reckon  maybe  it  was  'bout  a  year  ago  I  fust  met 
[167] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


the  Ensign,  Mademoiselle,  up  at  Fort  Pitt,  an'  off  an' 
on  ever  since  we've  run  against  each  other  along  the 
Ohio.  I  don't  know  what  all  this  may  be  leadin'  to,  but 
so  far  as  I  can  see,  he  ain't  no  cause  to  tell  you  a  lie." 

She  hesitated,  glancing  from  his  sober  face  into  mine ; 
then  impulsively  held  out  her  hand. 

"  I  —  I  am  glad,  Monsieur,"  her  lips  trembling.  "  I 
—  I  cannot  tell  you  how  glad.  It  is  such  a  strange 
thing  that  you  should  look  so  much  alike  and  bear  the 
same  name.  Can  the  other  be  a  relative  of  yours  ?  " 

I  shook  my  head. 

"  Hardly ;  we  are  I  suppose  of  English  stock,  but  my 
family  has  been  a  hundred  years  in  Maryland." 

"  And  you  forgive  ?  " 

"  There  is  nothing  to  forgive  —  a  mere  mistake  —  " 

"  Oh,  come !  "  broke  in  Brady  impatiently.  "  I  have 
no  understanding  of  all  this,  nor  have  we  time  to  ex- 
change compliments.  There  is  little  enough  of  darkness 
left  if  we  are  to  get  away.  What  is  it  you  know,  Made- 
moiselle ?  " 

"  Not  so  much  as  what  I  suspect,"  she  answered 
quickly.  "  There  is  a  British  agent  working  among 
the  tribes,  under  Hamilton's  orders,  an  officer  of  in- 
fantry, who  calls  himself  Joseph  Hayward  —  " 

"What?" 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  the  same  name,  with  a  face  strangely 
[158] 


The  Return  of  Brady 


like  this  man's,  and  a  form  as  big.  I  thought  I  knew; 
thought  I  could  not  be  mistaken !  Nothing  convinced 
me  but  your  word.  You  are  of  the  woods,  and  jour 
eyes  did  not  lie.  I  have  heard  my  father  tell  of  you  as 
a  great  hunter,  a  man  to  be  trusted,  though  an  Ameri- 
cain.  You  are  Stephen  Brady?  You  were  with  Mon- 
sieur Clark?" 

"  Yes,  Mam'selle." 

"  I  know ;  I  heard  it  all,  and  when  I  looked  in  your 
eyes  I  was  sure  you  would  tell  me  true.  We  of  the 
Great  Woods  understand  each  other." 

"  But  about  this  Englishman?  " 

"  He  was  ever  urging  the  tribes  to  war,  lying  to  them, 
pledging  them  help.  He  came  to  my  people  —  I  am  a 
Wyandot  —  often.  He  met  my  father  there  in  council, 
the  one  ever  advocating  war,  the  other  counselling  peace. 
He  failed  in  his  mission  to  our  people,  yet  somehow  my 
father  liked  him;  perhaps  it  was  a  pleasure  to  talk 
again  with  one  who  knew  Europe  and  the  late  books. 
And  the  Englishman,  hoping  thus  to  finally  win  my 
father  over  to  his  side,  was  most  cordial.  He  played  a 
part  that  he  might  keep  my  father  on  long  journeys  to 
other  tribes,  while  he  remained  behind  to  poison  the 
minds  of  our  own  people.  I  overheard  his  words,  his  ly- 
ing promises  to  our  warriors.  Yet  in  spite  of  all,  the 
Wyandots  remained  at  peace ;  they  alone  held  back  the 

[159] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


tribes  from  war.  I  appealed  to  them,  Monsieur;  I,  a 
mere  girl,  held  before  them  a  cross,  and  they  listened, 
and  were  afraid.  They  drove  the  Englishman  from  the 
camp,  back  to  his  master." 

"And  what  then?" 

"  My  father  still  trusted  him,  and  he  came  back  once 
more.  They  went  away  together,  as  I  supposed  on 
some  mission  to  the  tribes.  I  heard  nothing,  no  mes- 
sage came  back.  I  came  to  this  island  with  two  of  my 
people,  but  there  was  no  one  here;  the  cabin  was  de- 
serted. There  came  to  me  later  a  report  that  they 
were  seen  together  on  the  Wabash,  and  I  journeyed 
there  also.  The  Miamis  told  me  a  strange  story  of 
treachery  and  death  at  the  hands  of  the  Americains.  I 
half  believed  it  a  lie ;  yet  I  must  know.  My  Wyandots 
would  go  no  further:  they  were  afraid,  so  I  came  by 
myself  to  the  Shawnees,  and  then,  with  French  boat- 
men, journeyed  up  the  great  river  to  the  fort  of  the 
Americain  commander.  You  know  the  rest,  Messieurs." 

She  was  leaning  back  against  the  table,  holding  her- 
self erect  by  her  hands.  Her  story  had  been  told 
swiftly,  interjected  with  French  phrases  where  English 
failed  her. 

"  Yes,"  I  burst  forth,  "  you  came  here  again  and 
found  him  dead  —  murdered  — ?  and  —  and  you  believed 
I  did  it." 

[160] 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THE   BARRIER   BETWEEN 

T  TER  eyes  deserted  Brady's  face  and  sought  mine. 
"  Not  now,  Monsieur,  not  now,"  she  said  gently. 
"  I  was  blind  then  with  suspicion.  The  name,  the  face, 
the  giant  form  deceived  me.  Perhaps  I  never  really 
looked  to  be  sure,  for  I  never  dreamed  of  any  mistake. 
Now  I  know,  for  I  can  see  myself  —  the  eyes  and  mouth 
are  not  his ;  no !  you  can  smile  and  sympathize ;  you  are 
not  all  deceit.  But,  Monsieur,"  and  her  hands  were 
outstretched,  "  can  you  blame  me  ?  What  could  I  think 
else,  believing  you  to  be  that  Englishman?  You  came 
here  straight  as  the  arrow  flies,  as  if  you  knew  the  way." 

She  stopped,  listening  to  some  sound  without. 

"  'T  is  an  owl  hooting  in  the  woods ;  but,  Messieurs, 
we  must  not  stand  and  talk.  I  am  in  no  danger;  they 
will  never  lay  hands  on  me,  but  they  will  come  here  seek- 
ing you.  It  will  be  as  the  Englishman  wishes:  he  will 
tell  them  you  are  here,  that  you  have  killed  Wa-pa-tee- 
tah  of  the  Wyandots.  He  will  point  out  to  them  the 
dead  body,  and  cry  for  vengeance.  They  are  young 
warriors,  mad  already  with  blood-lust  —  Miamis,  Shaw- 
nees,  Ojibwas  —  many  of  them  outcasts  from  their 

[161] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


tribes.  No  words  of  mine  will  restrain  them,  or  save 
you.  There  will  be  blood  and  war.  You  must  not  wait, 
Messieurs ;  you  must  go !  " 

"  And  leave  you  here  with  those  demons  ?  " 

She  made  a  swift  gesture. 

"  I !  —  Mother  of  God,  you  do  not  understand. 
There  is  nothing  for  me  to  fear.  They  dare  not  touch 
me.  They  know  me  —  I  am  a  Wyandot.  To  do  me  evil 
would  mean  war.  It  is  of  yourselves  you  must  think. 
I  will  remain  here  with  my  father's  body ;  they  will  find 
me  alone  when  they  come." 

She  stepped  past  Brady  to  the  door,  opened  it  and 
glanced  out  into  the  night. 

"  'T  is  an  hour  yet  until  day,"  she  said  coming  back. 
"  That  will  give  you  time.  They  will  be  here  with  the 
first  light  of  dawn.  There  will  be  no  attack  until  then. 
You  must  delay  no  longer." 

Brady  picked  up  his  pack,  motioning  Schultz  to  do 
the  same. 

"  The  girl  is  right  enough,  Master  Hayward,"  he 
said  grimly.  "  Fate  has  played  us  a  shabby  trick,  and 
we  must  take  whatever  chance  remains.  Our  lives  are 
at  stake,  but  I  doubt  if  we  make  it,  for  the  savages  will 
find  our  trail  —  " 

"  You  will  not  go  as  you  came,"  she  interrupted. 
"  There  is  a  canoe  yonder,  hidden  beneath  the  bank. 

[162] 


The  Barrier  Between 


Cross  the  lake  in  that  before  daybreak  and  you  will 
have  hours  the  start.  I  will  hold  them  here  as  long  as 
possible,  and  there  is  no  other  boat.  They  will  have  to 
march  around  the  shore.  Come,  I  will  show  you." 

We  followed  her  out  into  the  night,  across  the  nar- 
row clearing  into  the  fringe  of  woods.  There  were 
clouds  overhead,  and  very  dark,  but  there  seemed  to  be 
a  path  winding  through  the  dense  tangle  of  underbrush. 
I  followed  Schultz,  keeping  close  enough  barely  to  dis- 
tinguish his  figure.  Twice  he  ran  into  trees,  but 
was  too  frightened  to  speak  aloud.  The  distance  was 
short,  however,  and  the  four  of  us  halted  at  the  edge 
of  the  shore  facing  the  water.  We  could  catch  no 
glimpse  from  here  of  the  Indian  camp,  and  the  silence 
was  profound.  Only  for  a  moment  did  the  girl  hesitate, 
bending  down  and  listening.  Then  she  led  the  way 
around  a  narrow  point  of  sand,  pressed  back  some 
bushes,  and  revealed  the  sharp  prow  of  a  canoe.  Brady 
flung  down  his  pack,  and  hauled  the  light  craft  down 
to  the  edge  of  the  water. 

"  Lay  hold  there,  Schultz,"  he  ordered  in  low  voce, 
"  till  we  get  her  afloat." 

I  stood  alone  back  in  the  shadow,  hesitating,  uncer- 
tain. It  was  in  my  heart  to  refuse  to  desert  her  there. 
She  turned  toward  me. 

"  You  must  get  away  at  once,"  she  said.  "  There  is 
[163] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


little  enough  time.     Head  straight  out  for  the  opposite 
shore." 

"  But  I  have  no  wish  to  go  without  you." 

"  Without  me  ?  "  her  voice  questioning.  "  There  is 
nothing  for  me  to  flee  from ;  I  have  nothing  to  fear  from 
Indians.  Is  it  so  hard  for  you  to  recall  what  I  am?  " 

"  Yes,  it  is,  Mademoiselle,"  I  pleaded  earnestly. 
"  My  thought  will  not  associate  you  with  these  savages. 
Perhaps  I  might  if  I  knew  your  people,  but  not  such 
ruthless  murderers  as  those  yonder,  wearing  the  scalps 
of  women.  Who  is  to  protect  you  from  that  motley 
crew?  Will  it  be  Girty?  or  that  English  agent?  " 

Her  eyes  met  mine  even  in  the  darkness. 

"  I  shall  need  appeal  to  neither,  Monsieur.  You  do 
not  in  the  least  understand.  I  am  not  a  mere  squaw  of 
the  Wyandots,  but  a  teacher  they  love.  There  is  not  a 
tribe  from  the  Wabash  to  the  upper  lakes  among  whom 
my  name  is  not  known.  I  have  even  sat  in  council  with 
the  chiefs,  and  spoken.  Touch  me,  those  outlaws  !  Not 
one  would  dare  lay  a  finger  upon  me.  I  am  as  safe 
among  them  as  my  father  was." 

"  But  he  was  killed." 

"  By  no  Indian  hand.  Please,  Monsieur,  do  not  urge 
me  any  more.  As  it  is  I  am  balanced  between  two  duties 
—  to  go  with  you,  guard  you,  and  see  you  safe,  or 
remain  and  condemn  my  father's  murderer." 

[164] 


The  Barrier  Between 


"  You  believe  then  —  " 

"  That  he  was  the  Englishman  who  bears  your  name. 
That  man  alone  had  knowledge  of  this  hut  on  the  island ; 
he  alone  possessed  opportunity.  The  scarlet  jacket  left 
behind,  and  his  sudden  appearance  in  the  Indian  camp, 
all  point  direct  to  his  guilt.  I  remain  to  make  sure; 
that  is  my  duty." 

"  And  what  would  you  have  us  do?  "  I  asked.  "  We 
no  longer  have  any  mission  to  the  Wyandots ;  the 
White  Chief  is  dead,  and,  beyond  doubt,  you  will  bear 
his  body  to  the  council  of  chiefs  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  is  there  any  reason  why  we  should  go  for- 
ward into  greater  peril?  " 

"  No ;  that  was  what  I  meant  to  tell  you.  Monsieur 
Brady !  " 

The  scout  rose  to  his  feet,  a  black  smudge  in  the 
night,  and  came  up  the  low  bank  to  where  we  stood. 

"  You  called,  Mademoiselle  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  was  talking  with  the  officer,  but  perhaps 
you  do  not  understand  all.  Captain  D'Auvray  was 
known  to  the  Wyandots  as  Wa-pa-tee-tah.  He  is  dead, 
and  his  body  will  be  taken  to  Sandusky ;  I  shall  tell  the 
Wyandots  how  he  died.  There  is  no  longer  need  that 
Monsieur  should  meet  them  in  council.  It  is  better  that 
you  return  to  Fort  Harmar." 

[165] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Then  why  should  we  cross  the  lake?  " 

"  So  as  to  hide  your  trail.  The  Indians  will  believe 
you  have  gone  on.  I  will  encourage  that  belief.  Now 
mark  my  words  closely.  There  is  a  stream  almost  op- 
posite here,  flowing  into  the  lake;  it  is  not  large,  but 
bears  sufficient  water  to  float  a  canoe  for  several  miles. 
It  circles  to  the  south,  and  you  must  follow  its  course, 
leaving  no  sign.  When  you  reach  water  too  shallow, 
leave  the  canoe  hidden  and  strike  straight  for  the  Ohio. 
There  will  be  no  pursuit,  for  I  pledge  you  these  Indians 
will  go  with  me." 

She  paused,  but  neither  of  us  spoke,  and  she  held  out 
her  hand. 

"  Good-by,  Monsieur  Brady.'* 

He  accepted  the  proffered  hand  awkwardly,  dropped 
it  almost  instantly,  and  stepped  back. 

"  I  reckon  that  would  be  the  best  way,  Miss,"  he 
stammered,  "  so  maybe  we  better  go.  Are  you  ready, 
sir?  " 

"  Yes,  run  out  the  canoe ;  I  '11  be  there  in  a  minute. 
Mademoiselle." 

She  turned  toward  me,  as  he  went  noiselessly  across 
the  sand  beach.  Her  hand  was  not  extended,  but  I  had 
the  courage  to  reach  out  and  grasp  it  in  my  own. 

"  Do  not  say  good-by  to  me,"  I  whispered,  feeling  my 
voice  tremble.  "  I  go  because  you  wish  it,  because  it 

[  166 ]  " 


The  Barrier  Between 


seems  to  be  the  wise  thing  to  do;  but  I  will  not  believe 
we  are  never  to  meet  again." 

"  Yet  that  is  not  likely,  Monsieur." 

"  If  I  seek  you  it  might  be." 

"  It  will  require  more  than  peaceful  travel  to  do 
that,"  she  replied  soberly.  "  There  is  going  to  be 
war." 

"War!  the  Indians  of  the  northwest?" 

"  Yes ;  the  time  has  come  —  is  here.  The  council  at 
Sandusky  was  for  no  other  purpose.  Girty's  message 
was  merely  an  excuse  for  the  Wyandots  to  join  the 
other  tribes.  He  confessed  as  much  to  me.  It  was 
because  my  father  realized  his  helplessness  longer  to 
restrain  British  influence,  that  he  disappeared.  It  is 
war,  Monsieur." 

"  But  not  between  us,"  I  insisted,  shocked  at  the  pic- 
ture. "  Mademoiselle,  come  with  me.  There  is  noth- 
ing left  to  hold  you  to  this  life  among  savages.  With 
your  father  dead,  why  should  you  continue  to  bury 
yourself  in  these  woods?  You  have  education,  refine- 
ment, gentlenessness ;  why  should  you  not  go  now, 
before  war  breaks  along  the  border  ?  " 

"  And  desert  my  people  ?  " 

"  But  they  are  not  your  people ;  you  are  white,  not 
red.  That  small  drop  of  Indian  blood  in  your  veins 
does  not  make  you  a  Wyandot.  You  have  nothing  else 

[167] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


in  common  with  them.  Why  not  be  yourself,  choosing 
life  among  those  of  your  own  race?  " 

I  thought  she  hesitated,  and  I  grasped  her  hand  more 
closely,  the  hot  blood  leaping  in  my  veins.  In  the  dim 
light  I  could  see  her  lowered  face,  the  eyes  downcast. 

"  No,  Monsieur,"  she  said  at  last,  very  low.  "  It  is 
good  of  you  to  think  thus  of  me,  but  —  but  I  cannot  do 
that.  You  must  not  urge.  'T  is  true  there  is  more 
French  blood  in  me  than  Indian,  and  I  love  those  things 
to  which  you  invite.  They  tempt  me  to  be  false  to  my 
mother's  people,  but  —  but,  Monsieur,  I  have  a  duty 
to  which  I  am  sacredly  pledged.  The  Wyandots  need 
me  —  more  now  that  my  father  is  gone  than  ever  be- 
fore. They  are  my  people;  I  was  born  to  them,  and 
played  as  a  child  in  their  villages.  They  love  me,  trust 
me,  and  I  help  them  by  teaching  them  the  Christ.  To 
desert  them  would  be  to  desert  Him.  I  cannot  do  that, 
Monsieur,  merely  to  gratify  myself." 

"  But  have  I  no  call  upon  you?  "  I  insisted  in  des- 
peration. 

"  No,  Monsieur,"  and  she  was  looking  at  me  now 
with  some  amazement.  "  'T  is  scarce  an  hour  since  I 
believed  you  a  murderer.  We  do  not  know  each  other. 
Let  me  trust,  and  believe  in  you;  do  not  speak  like 
that." 

"  I  meant  nothing  wrong,  Mademoiselle,"  I  broke  in 
[168] 


The  Barrier  Between 


hastily,  stung  by  her  words  of  reproof.  "  You  have 
come  to  me  out  of  the  woods  like  a  new  life.  I  know  it 
is  strange,  all  strange,  but  there  is  already  something 
between  us  that  can  never  be  severed." 

"Is  there,  Monsieur?" 

"  Yes ;  race  makes  no  difference.  I  thought  it  did 
once.  When  you  said  back  there  in  the  shadow  of  the 
stockade  that  you  were  a  Wyandot  it  was  as  if  you 
struck  me  a  blow  in  the  face.  I  swore  then  I  would  think 
of  you  no  more,  yet,  even  that  night,  you  were  in 
my  dreams,  and  ever  since  your  face  has  been  in  my 
memory." 

I  felt  her  handclasp  tighten  on  mine,  although  her 
body  remained  motionless. 

"  I  did  not  think  you  would  speak  like  that,  Mon- 
sieur," she  said  gravely,  her  glance  sweeping  the  two 
dim  figures  beside  the  canoe.  "  I  do  not  wish  you  to  say 
such  things  to  me.  I  am  an  Indian,  you  an  Americain 

—  an  officier,  Monsieur.    You  forget,  but  I  do  not.    We 
meet  once,  twice,  and  you  talk  to  me  as  the  English  do 
to  women  of  my  people.    Have  I  given  you  cause  to  be- 
lieve me  a  light-o'-love  ?    At  first  I  thought  you  a  spy ; 
then  a  traitor,  later  a  murderer.    Then  when  Monsieur 
Brady  told  me  the  truth,  I  endeavored  to  save  you.     I 

—  I  had  even  begun  to  like  you,  to  wish  you  well,  and 
now  you  ruin  all." 

[169] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  You  do  not  believe  me  in  earnest  ?  " 

"I!  how  can  I,  Monsieur?  I  think  you  jest,  you 
amuse  yourself.  Let  us  stop  it  all  now.  You  go  back 
to  your  people,  I  to  mine,  and  we  will  both  forget.  No ! 
do  not  say  more!  I  will  not  listen.  Come  with  me  to 
the  boat." 

I  followed  her  down  the  bank,  words  burning  on  my 
lips  she  gave  me  no  chance  to  speak,  for  she  moved  with 
quick  decision.  The  two  men  had  the  canoe  turned  over, 
at  the  very  edge  of  the  water,  and  the  scout  was  upon 
his  knees  in  the  sand.  He  looked  up  hastily  at  our 
approach. 

"  I  reckon  we  stay  here,  Miss,"  he  said  soberly. 
"  Somebody  has  smashed  a  hole  through  the  bottom 
with  a  stone." 

She  uttered  a  little  cry  of  alarm,  leaning  over  his 
shoulder. 

"A  hole!  how  could  that  be?  Surely  it  was  no 
accident !  " 

He  arose  to  his  feet,  brushing  off  his  knees. 

"  That 's  what  I  told  the  Dutchman,  though  neither 
of  us  could  find  the  rock.  I  reckon  the  Englisher  did 
that  job;  he  had  it  all  figured  out,  and  meant  to  keep 
us  yere." 

I  saw  her  look  up  at  the  man's  face,  and  then  about  in 
bewilderment. 

[170] 


The  Barrier  Between 


"  You  think  that  —  why?  " 

"  Cause  it  seems  ter  me  nat'ral.  I  reckon  it 's  'bout 
what  I  would  a  done  if  I  was  in  his  fix.  He  had  proof 
against  us,  if  he  could  get  some  Injuns  along  as  wit- 
nesses. Nobody  would  ever  believe  what  we  said,  or 
even  wait  ter  listen.  All  he  had  to  do  was  catch  us 
yere,  charge  us  with  murder,  an'  turn  them  devils  loose. 
Thet  would  let  him  out  slick  as  a  whistle." 

She  stood  erect,  one  hand  pressed  against  her  temple. 

"  Then  —  then  what  is  to  be  done  ?  "  she  questioned 
blankly,  "  why  —  what  —  quick,  look  there !  "  She 
was  bending  forward  and  pointing  out  at  the  lake.  Some 
dark,  moving  object  was  visible  in  the  water  only  a  few 
yards  from  shore. 


[171] 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

WE   REGAIN   THE   HOUSE 

T)  RADY  flung  forward  his  rifle,  yet  hesitated,  fear- 
^~^  ing  to  fire.  Whatever  it  might  be  —  animal  or 
man  —  the  thing  was  coming  directly  toward  us,  swim- 
ming noiselessly.  Then  it  rose  up,  and  we  saw  a  face, 
with  long,  stringy  locks  of  wet  hair  dangling  to  the 
shoulders.  It  was  a  man  beyond  doubt,  yet  for  the  in- 
stant I  could  not  determine  whether  red  or  white.  As 
he  stood  there  sunk  to  his  armpits  in  water,  he  beheld 
us  for  the  first  time,  and  there  burst  from  his  lips  a 
sudden,  guttural  exclamation  of  alarm.  With  the 
strange  sound  Schultz  leaped  forward,  lumbering 
against  me  as  he  passed,  and  splashed  his  way  out  to- 
ward the  fellow,  uttering  some  exclamation  in  his  native 
tongue.  He  reached  him,  the  two  voices  greeting  each 
other. 

"  Well !  "  exclaimed  Brady  in  disgust.  "  If  it  ain't 
another  Dutchman.  Come  in  here,  you !  " 

The  two  waded  ashore  onto  the  sand,  Schultz's  heavy 
hand  grasping  his  companion's  arm,  and  helping  him 
along.  I  saw  a  face  white  and  ghastly  in  the  starlight, 
lean,  smooth-shaven,  looking  emaciated  against  the 

[173] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


long,  dank  hair,  the  eyes  bright  with  fanaticism.  He 
was  a  tall,  spare  man,  shaking  so  he  could  hardly  stand. 
The  very  sight  of  him  aroused  my  sympathy. 

"  Don't  be  afraid,"  I  said  soothingly.  "  We're  all 
white.  How  did  you  come  here?  " 

His  eyes  looked  at  me  as  I  spoke;  then  shifted  to 
Schultz's  face  in  silent  questioning.  The  latter  was 
breathing  hard,  but  managed  to  explain. 

"  He  not  talk  English  ver'  goot,  Mynheer.  I  tell  you 
vat  he  say  mit  me  —  he  vos  a  Dutch  preacher ;  yaw, 
mine  Gott ;  yust  over  py  mine  own  countries ;  he  vos 
named  Adrian  Block." 

"  Did  he  swim  all  the  way?  "  asked  Brady  grinning, 
but  Schultz  kept  his  eyes  fastened  on  me,  held  by  the 
one  thought  to  which  he  sought  to  give  utterance. 

"  He  vos  Moravian,  Mynheer ;  vot  you  call  Mis-son- 
ary — so?  He  von  month  in  dees  country,  an'  know 
only  to  preach." 

The  girl  leaning  forward,  interrupted  with  a  whis- 
per: 

"  I  recognize  the  man,  Monsieur ;  he  was  the  prisoner 
I  told  you  of  in  the  Indian  camp  —  the  Protestant." 

Block  saw  her  then  for  the  first  time,  his  eyes  seeming 
to  fairly  pop  out  of  his  head,  his  hands  uplifted,  his  lips 
pouring  forth  a  torrent  of  unintelligible  sentences. 
Both  Brady  and  I  gripped  and  shook  him. 

[174] 


We  Regain  the  House 


"Stop  that!"  I  commanded.  "This  is  no  Dutch 
church.  Schultz  come  here;  what  in  Heaven's  name  is 
the  matter  with  this  idiot  ?  Has  he  gone  crazy  ?  What 
is  he  trying  to  say?  " 

"  He  's  much  afraid  of  her,  Mynheer  —  that  she  be- 
witch him  mid  dem  beads  —  yaw ;  dot  vos  der  way  of 
it.  He  see  her  in  der  Injun  camp,  and  not  know  why 
she  here  now." 

"Oh,  that's  it?  Well  you  tell  him.  Do  n't  waste 
your  words,  man ;  we  have  no  time  to  stand  here  arguing 
with  this  fanatic.  Find  out,  if  you  can,  how  he  got 
away,  and  what  those  red  demons  are  up  to." 

There  was  a  gruff  growling  of  tongues,  Brady  still 
holding  fast  to  the  preacher's  wet  collar,  while  I  turned 
about  to  look  at  Mademoiselle,  who  was  yet  staring  at 
him  curiously. 

"  An  odd  fish  we  've  hooked,"  I  muttered  in  explana- 
tion. "  He  thinks  you  an  emissary  of  the  devil." 

"  I,  Monsieur  ?  Mon  Dieu,  why  the  man  think  that !  " 
and  she  made  the  sign  of  the  cross.  "  Nevaire  I  see 
this  kind  before.  Over  there  he  pray,  pray,  pray,  yet 
do  nothing.  Was  it  religion,  Monsieur?  " 

"  That  is  what  he  calls  it.  They  will  not  fight  —  his 
sort.  It 's  a  wonder  to  me  he  ever  ran  away.  Well, 
Schultz  what 's  the  story?  " 

"  They  lef  him  only  mit  one  guard,  an'  after  while, 
[175] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


dot  fellow  he  fall  asleep.  Den  he  got  loose  mid  his 
bonds,  an'  creep  down  mit  der  shore  of  der  lake  where  a 
boat  wus.  So  he  driff  out  on  der  water;  but  der  boat 
leak,  an'  go  down,  leaving  him  mit  nottings.  Dot  vas  it, 
Mynheer.  Den  he  swim  som'  an'  pray  mooch,  an'  so 
com'  here  mit  us,  altready." 

"  Where  did  the  Indians  go?  " 

"  Up  mit  der  lake  shore  —  so  like  dis,"  waving  his 
hand. 

"  All  of  them?  the  two  white  men  also?  " 

Schultz  repeated  the  question,  and  Block  answered, 
never  once  removing  his  eyes  from  Mademoiselle. 

"  He  know  not  what  became  of  der  little  man ;  he 
see  him  not  for  long  while,  but  der  big  man  he  go  mit 
der  Injuns  —  yaw,  he  tells  dem  der  way,  an'  talk  all 
der  time." 

"  We  have  got  the  situation  clear  enough,"  concluded 
Brady,  coolly.  "  Whoever  that  red-coat  is,  he  evi- 
dently knows  the  best  way  to  this  island,  and  the  fix 
we  're  in.  So  far  as  I  can  see  there  is  nothing  left  us 
but  to  fight.  We  can't  get  away  now;  the  boat  is  use- 
less, and  those  Injuns  have  blocked  the  ford.  That 's 
exactly  where  they  are  now,  watchin'  fer  us  to  attempt 
to  cross.  The  only  question  is,  Where  can  we  hold  out 
the  longest?  I  'm  fer  goin'  back  to  the  house." 

"  And  I  also,"  I  said,  deciding  instantly,  and  as 
[176] 


We  Regain  the  House 


quickly  assuming  command.  "  There  is  small  chance  of 
our  holding  out  long  against  those  fellows,  but  we  '11  do 
the  best  we  can.  What  about  you,  Mademoiselle?  " 

"  I  go  with  you,"  she  answered  quietly. 

"Against  your  own  people?" 

"  Those  are  not  my  people !  They  are  outlaws, 
renegades,  led  by  the  murderer  of  my  father." 

"  Then  let  us  go  back ;  every  moment  lost  will  count 
against  us.  Pick  up  the  packs.  Brady,  you  lead  off; 
Schultz,  take  care  of  the  preacher  and  keep  his  tongue 
still." 

We  moved  forward  one  by  one  through  the  shadows, 
until  we  came  once  more  to  the  edge  of  the  opening. 
There  was  still  no  perceptible  sign  of  daybreak  in  the 
sky,  yet  it  was  surely  near  at  hand.  The  urgent  neces- 
sity for  action,  the  impossibility  longer  of  avoiding  act- 
ual conflict,  had  aroused  me  thoroughly.  I  no  longer 
doubted  myself,  or  asked  advice.  I  felt  the  responsi- 
bility of  command  and  became  insistent.  I  noticed  the 
girl's  eyes  turned  upon  me,  as  if  she  also  recognized  the 
difference  in  my  bearing,  the  abruptness  in  my  voice. 
Yet  I  hardly  thought  of  this  at  the  time,  my  whole  be- 
ing concentrated  on  what  should  be  done  next.  My  eyes 
swept  the  clearing,  marking  no  movement,  no  sign  that 
the  house  had  been  approached  since  our  leaving. 

"  They  are  not  here  yet,"  I  said,  "  but  we  must  run 
[177] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


no  risk  of  being  surprised  in  the  open.     Go  forward, 
Brady,  and  make  sure ;  yes,  leave  the  pack  lying  here." 

He  stole  forward  cautiously,  a  mere  gliding  figure, 
quickly  disappearing  in  the  gloom,  noiseless  as  a 
shadow.  We  remained  motionless  at  the  edge  of  the 
wood,  and  I  grasped  the  girl's  arm  as  she  stood  next 
rne,  almost  unconscious  of  the  action. 

"  You  need  not  fear,"  she  ventured.  "  They  will  not 
come  until  daylight." 

"  That 's  Indian  custom,"  I  answered,  glancing  aside 
at  her  face.  "  But  these  fellows  have  a  white  leader  — 
two  of  them,  for  Girty  is  quite  likely  in  the  game." 

"  I  rather  doubt  that,  Monsieur,"  earnestly.  "  The 
preacher  said  he  had  disappeared.  He  has  no  stomach 
for  fighting,  unless  cornered." 

"Where  is  he  then?" 

"  Traveling  alone  to  Sandusky ;  that  is  my  guess." 

I  waited  a  moment,  then  bent  over  her. 

"  I  do  not  really  know  whether  I  am  glad  or  sorry, 
that  you  decided  to  remain." 

"  Monsieur !  " 

"  You  would  have  been  safe  with  those  Indians ;  safer 
still  with  Girty  on  the  trail  north.  We  shall  have  to 
fight  for  our  lives." 

"  Think  you  I  could  companion  again  with  that 
man?  "  she  exclaimed  passionately. 

[178] 


We  Regain  the  House 


"  And  is  that  all  ?  Was  there  no  friendship  for  us 
in  your  choice?  none  for  me?  " 

She  turned  her  head  and  faced  me. 

"  I  cannot  say  yes,  or  no,  Monsieur.  The  thought 
was  not  mine.  It  was  the  dead,  not  the  living,  who 
called  to  me ;  I  cannot  desert  the  body  of  my  father.  It 
is  true  you  are  unjustly  attacked;  there  has  been  as 
yet  no  war  declared  between  my  people  and  the  Ameri- 
cains.  More,  you  travel  to  the  Wyandots  with  a  mes- 
sage of  peace.  I  belong  with  you,  not  with  those  out- 
laws. That  is  all,  Monsieur." 

Her  answer  was  truthful;  I  could  read  that  in  her 
face.  Only  a  clear  conception  of  duty  had  actuated  her 
decision  to  remain.  If,  beneath  this,  there  lingered  the 
slightest  personal  interest  in  me  as  a  man,  there  was 
no  outward  indication.  Apparently  my  hasty  words 
had  already  been  forgotten,  blotted  out.  Perhaps  she 
did  not  realize  their  full  significance,  but  held  them  as 
merely  the  outburst  of  impulse.  She  was  an  Indian,  I 
a  white  man ;  experience,  no  doubt,  had  long  ago  taught 
her  what  this  difference  in  race  meant.  To  her  ears  my 
protestations  were  but  wasted  breath,  unworthy  serious 
thought.  This  knowledge  came  to  me  in  full  force  as 
we  stood  there  —  she  had  forgiven  and  forgotten ;  her 
decision  to  remain  and  share  our  fate,  was  in  no  way 
stimulated  by  any  personal  interest  in  me.  I  was  to  her 
[179] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


merely  an  American,  an  enemy  to  whom  her  honor  of 
protection  had  been  pledged.  There  was  nothing  more 
I  could  say;  she  had  answered  calmly  and  clearly.  I 
stood  rebuked  and  silenced,  impetuous  words  trembling 
on  my  lips,  but  unuttered,  my  glance  wandering  from 
her  face  out  into  the  surrounding  night. 

"You  understand  now,  Monsieur?" 

"  Yes,"  I  answered,  shortly  enough,  for  I  was  hurt. 
"  We  are  merely  allies  against  these  outlaws.  That  is 
your  meaning,  is  it  not?  " 

"  Yes,"  very  quietly.     "  I  wished  you  to  know." 

The  two  Hollanders  were  sitting  on  the  ground  be- 
hind us,  growling  eagerly  into  each  other's  ears.  In 
front  was  the  open  clearing,  with  the  dim  outline  of 
the  log  house  beyond.  There  was  no  appearance  of  light 
in  the  sky  overhead,  studded  with  stars,  and  yet  it 
seemed  to  me  as  though  objects  about  began  to  show 
more  distinctly.  Her  eyes,  however,  were  keener  than 
mine. 

"  The  scout  is  coming  back,  Monsieur,"  she  whis- 
pered, pointing  forward.  "  See,  to  the  left  of  the 
house." 

He  approached  us  noiselessly  enough,  yet  with  no 
effort  at  concealment. 

"  They  have  not  crossed  to  the  island  yet,"  he  re- 
ported, "but  are  opposite,  concealed  in  the  woods. 

[180] 


We  Regain  the  House 


There  would  be  no  chance  to  get  away.  They  know 
that,  and  are  simply  waiting  daylight  to  close  in.  I 
was  as  far  as  the  shore  of  the  lake." 

"  The  house  then  offers  our  only  possibility  of  de- 
fense?" 

"  There  is  no  other  protection,  sir." 

"  Then  we  fight  it  out  there.  Bring  the  packs, 
men.  No,  Mademoiselle,  I  will  carry  that.  Lead  off, 
Brady." 

The  interior  was  exactly  as  we  left  it,  a  few  red  em- 
bers on  the  hearth  alone  shedding  spectral  light  about 
the  main  room,  as  we  groped  our  way  forward.  There 
were  heavy  wooden  bars  to  fit  across  the  doors,  and  I 
secured  these  as  soon  as  I  deposited  my  pack  on  the 
floor. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  said,  staring  about  at  the  blank 
walls  in  some  perplexity.  "  You  know  this  place  better 
than  any  of  us;  surely  it  was  not  erected  here  in  the 
wilderness  without  some  provision  for  defense  in  case 
of  attack.  Are  those  walls  solid  ?  " 

"  No,  Monsieur ;  they  were  made  tight,  so  no  gleam 
of  light  would  ever  show  without,  but  there  are  gun- 
ports  here  —  see." 

She  slipped  aside  a  small  wooden  shutter,  fitted  in- 
geniously between  the  logs,  revealing  an  opening  suf- 
ficient for  a  rifle  barrel. 

[181] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  There  are  four  along  this  wall,  and  as  many  oppo- 
site. At  the  rear  you  must  stand  on  the  bench,  so  as  to 
fire  above  the  shed  roof." 

"  Leave  that  preacher  alone,  and  open  them  up, 
Schultz,"  I  commanded  sharply.  "  There  is  not  light 
enough  here  now  to  show  without.  Now,  Brady,  see  if 
there  are  any  extra  guns  in  the  shack,  or  ammunition. 
Lay  everything  out  here  convenient.  A  rifle?  good! 
We  '11  give  that  to  our  Moravian  friend ;  he  may  be  op- 
posed to  war  on  principle,  but,  by  all  the  gods !  he  '11 
fight  now,  if  Schultz  can  pound  the  truth  into  him. 
What  is  that,  Mademoiselle?  Powder  and  ball  in  the 
big  chest ;  show  Brady  where  it  is.  This  is  n't  going  to 
be  such  a  one-sided  affair  after  all.  Five  of  us,  counting 
Block,  who  may  not  know  which  end  of  the  gun  to 
point." 

I  looked  across  at  the  man  sitting  dejectedly  on  the 
bench,  his  long,  thin  face  buried  in  his  hands,  but  his 
eyes  constantly  following  the  movements  of  the  girl  as 
though  fascinated. 

"  Schultz,"  I  said,  thrusting  a  weapon  into  his  hands. 
"  Teach  your  friend  how  to  load  this ;  tell  him  I  '11  skin 
him  alive  unless  he  does  what  he  's  told.  A  preacher ! 
well  what  do  I  care  for  that?  You  go,  and  do  what  I 
say." 

He  moved  forward  to  his  task  reluctantly  enough, 
[182] 


We  Regain  the  House 


but  I  had  other  things  in  mind,  and  paid  small  attention 
to  what  occurred  between  them.  Brady  and  his  assist- 
ant were  busily  engaged.  I  picked  up  my  rifle  and 
looked  to  its  priming  carefully ;  then  lifted  the  bar  pro- 
tecting the  front  entrance. 

"  I  am  going  to  scout  outside,"  I  announced,  "  and 
see  when  those  fellows  cross  over." 

Brady  shaded  his  eyes  to  stare  across  at  me  through 
the  gloom. 

"  You  'd  better  let  me  go." 

"  No ;  I  '11  try  it  alone ;  get  everything  ready,  and 
leave  the  bar  down." 

"You  will  be  careful,  Monsieur?"  There  was  an 
unconcealed  note  of  anxiety  in  the  voice  that  caused  me 
to  glance  back  at  her  quickly  in  surprise. 

"  Be  assured  of  that,  Mademoiselle,"  I  returned.  "  I 
know  the  duty  of  an  ally,"  and  stepped  without,  closing 
the  door  behind  me. 


[183] 


CHAPTER  XIX 

I   FIGHT   A   RED-COAT 

A  SINGLE  glance  about  assured  me  that  daybreak 
was  approaching.  The  stars  were  paling  over- 
head, and  there  was  already  a  barely  perceptible  tinge 
of  light  to  the  atmosphere;  I  could  see  the  tracery  of 
limbs  along  the  border  of  the  surrounding  forest,  and 
the  short  grass  blades  underfoot.  Yet  it  was  dark 
enough  still  to  give  concealment,  and  I  ran  hastily  for- 
ward to  the  edge  of  the  woods  where  the  gloom  held  as 
dense  as  ever.  I  waited  there  a  moment  listening, 
crouched  against  the  trunk  of  a  great  tree,  my  heart 
thumping  so  hard  I  could  hear  it  in  the  silence.  The 
house  in  the  center  of  the  clearing  appeared  black,  de- 
serted. The  fire  embers  emitted  no  light  through  the 
small  gun  ports,  and  no  smoke  spirals  appeared  above 
the  chimney. 

Convinced  that  my  coming  had  not  been  perceived, 
and  that  no  Indian  scouts  were  watching  the  cabin,  I 
pressed  forward  into  the  depths  of  the  woods,  obliged 
to  proceed  slowly  because  of  the  darkness.  So  cautious 
was  I,  lest  some  noise  might  betray  my  presence,  that  I 
was  some  moments  in  passing  through  the  fringe  of 

[185] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


trees  to  where  I  could  obtain  view  of  the  lake,  and  the 
dark  line  of  shore  opposite. 

I  emerged  somewhat  to  the  right  of  the  ford,  and 
crept  out  between  the  roots  of  a  big  tree  overhanging 
the  water,  from  which  point  of  vantage  I  could  see  in 
every  direction.  It  was  not  light,  yet  a  slight  radiance 
from  the  slowly  brightening  sky  found  faint  reflection 
along  the  surface  of  the  lake  so  that  objects  were  dis- 
cernible to  eyes  trained  by  the  long  night  vigils.  Things 
appeared  out  of  proportion,  grotesque,  yet  I  could  dis- 
tinguish any  movement,  even  at  some  considerable  dis- 
tance. Nothing,  however,  appeared  within  range  of 
vision  to  suggest  human  life ;  the  wooded  shore  opposite 
remained  silent,  and  seemingly  unoccupied.  That  In- 
dians were  there,  securely  hidden  in  the  coverts,  hoping 
to  trap  us  in  an  effort  at  escape,  was  altogether  beyond 
question.  They  would  wait  there  in  silence  until  day- 
light, hopeful  that  we  would  endeavor  to  escape,  and 
thus  wander  into  their  ambuscade.  If  we  failed  to  ap- 
pear then  they  would  cross  to  the  island  and  attack 
us.  That  was  Indian  strategy,  to  rely  upon  surprise 
rather  than  numbers;  treachery  in  preference  to  open 
warfare. 

To  better  satisfy  myself  that  none  had  already 
crossed,  I  moved  slowly  along  the  bank,  under  conceal- 
ment of  the  trees,  seeking  the  imprint  of  feet  on  the 

[186] 


/  Fight  a  Red-Coat 


soft  earth.  I  had  advanced  thus  for  perhaps  a  hun- 
dred yards,  passing  beyond  where  we  had  attained  land 
the  evening  before,  when  I  suddenly  came  to  a  halt, 
sinking  to  my  knees,  and  staring  forward  across  a 
slight  opening  In  the  forest  growth.  At  first  I  was  not 
sure  that  what  I  saw  was  actually  a  man,  but  as  the 
object  moved  toward  me,  all  doubt  vanished.  He  was 
not  only  a  man,  but  a  white  man;  at  least  he  was  not 
clothed  as  an  Indian ;  and,  as  he  stepped  forth  into  the 
open,  more  clearly  revealed  for  an  instant,  I  could 
have  sworn  that  he  wore  a  uniform  coat,  with  buttons 
that  gleamed  dully  in  the  twilight.  He  looked  a  giant, 
a  great,  hulking  outline,  but  stepped  lightly  enough, 
not  the  slightest  sound  betraying  his  cat-like  move- 
ments as  he  came  steadily  onward,  with  head  bent  for- 
ward, his  rifle  advanced.  I  felt  sure  of  his  identity 
almost  at  once;  surely  he  could  be  no  other  than  the 
British  agent,  whom  Mademoiselle  held  guilty  of  her 
father's  murder,  the  man  who  masqueraded  under  my 
own  name.  I  felt  my  blood  grow  hot  with  anger.  He 
would  pass  within  a  yard  of  me;  he  was  alone,  seeking 
his  way,  endeavoring  to  plan  how  he  should  lead  his 
savages  to  an  assault.  If  I  could  get  him  it  would  be 
half  the  battle. 

I  rose  silently  to  my  feet,  hidden  behind  the  trunk  of 
a  tree,  and  waited,  gripping  my  long  rifle  by  its  bar- 

[187] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


rel.  I  had  no  wish  to  fire,  because  of  the  alarm.  In- 
dians were  on  the  other  shore  waiting  a  signal;  there 
might  even  be  others  scouting  these  woods.  A  shot 
would  bring  them  upon  us,  possibly  before  I  could  es- 
cape; my  passage  back  to  the  house  might  be  blocked. 
Besides  I  felt  no  fear  of  the  fellow  if  we  once  came  to 
hand-grips.  Big  as  he  was  I  knew  the  game,  and  had 
confidence  in  my  strength  and  skill;  then  I  possessed 
the  advantage  of  surprise  —  I  could  strike  before  the 
man  even  realized  his  danger. 

I  watched  him  closely,  peering  about  the  smooth  bark 
of  the  tree,  one  foot  advanced  ready  for  a  spring. 
He  came  on  cautiously  as  an  Indian,  not  even  rustling 
the  leaves  as  he  passed,  and  paused,  every  step  or  two, 
to  listen  for  some  warning  noise.  His  actions  proved 
that  he  possessed  no  knowledge  of  our  movements,  or 
plans ;  that  he  feared  no  encounter.  It  occurred  to  me 
that  he  might  be  ignorant  of  our  number ;  that  his  pres- 
ent purpose  was  to  find  out  how  many  we  were.  He 
crossed  the  open  space,  drawing  closer  to  me  at  every 
step,  yet  his  head  was  bent  forward  concealing  his 
face.  With  one  hand  he  parted  the  fringe  of  bushes, 
and  stepped  into  their  cover.  He  was  in  the  dark  now, 
a  mere  ill-defined  shadow,  yet  so  close  I  could  have 
touched  him  with  my  gun  barrel.  Some  instinct  of 
wild  life  must  have  told  him  of  my  presence,  for  he 

[188] 


/  Fight  a  Red-Coat 


stopped  still,  peering  about  suspiciously,  his  rifle  flung 
forward.  I  dared  not  delay,  yet  swift  as  I  was, 
his  quick  eye  caught  my  movement.  The  gun  butt 
swinging  through  the  air  met  his  rifle  barrel,  slid  along 
the  steel,  and  struck  a  glancing  blow.  He  reeled  back, 
dazed,  half  stunned,  dropping  his  own  weapon,  yet 
seizing  the  muzzle  of  mine  to  keep  from  falling.  I 
endeavored  to  jerk  it  free,  but  he  hung  to  it  desperately. 
Scarce  knowing  how  it  was  done,  we  were  together, 
grappling  each  other,  the  disputed  gun  kicked  aside 
under  our  feet. 

He  swore  once,  a  mad  English  oath,  but  I  choked  it 
back,  clutching  his  throat  in  iron  grip,  straining  to 
force  him  to  the  fulcrum  of  my  knee.  Then  he  found 
grasp  of  my  hair,  hurling  my  head  back  until  the  agony 
compelled  me  to  let  go.  I  struck  him  square  in  the 
face,  a  blow  that  would  have  dropped  an  ordinary  man, 
but  he  only  snarled,  and  closed  in,  grappling  my  wrist 
with  one  hand,  the  other  fumbling  for  a  knife  at  his 
belL  By  God's  mercy  I  got  it  first;  yet  could  not 
strike,  for  he  had  me  foul,  gripped  to  him  as  if  held  in 
a  vise.  I  could  feel  the  muscles  of  his  chest,  the  strain- 
ing sinews  of  his  arms  as  they  crushed  me.  I  gave  back, 
down,  my  limbs  trembling  beneath  the  force  with  which 
he  flung  the  whole  weight  of  his  body  against  mine.  I 
had  met  my  match,  and  I  knew  it.  Yet  the  knowledge 

[189] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


gave  me  fresh  strength,  fiercer  determination.  The 
very  conception  of  defeat  crazed  me ;  my  brain  held  no 
thought  save  a  mad  impulse  to  conquer  him,  show  him 
who  was  the  better  man ! 

I  wrenched  aside,  breaking  that  strangle-hold  by 
sheer  strength  and  wrestling  skill.  Again  we  gripped, 
face  to  face,  our  muscles  straining  as  we  sought  advan- 
tage of  hold.  My  hunting  shirt  gave,  tearing  apart  like 
brown  paper,  giving  me  a  scant  second  as  his  grasp 
slipped.  It  was  enough,  I  had  him  locked  at  my  hip; 
yet  strain  as  I  would  his  weight  baffled  every  effort. 
Back  and  forth  we  struggled,  crushing  the  bushes  under- 
foot, our  breath  coming  in  sobs,  every  muscle  aching 
under  the  awful  strain.  Neither  dared  loosen  a  finger 
grip.  Our  eyes  glared  into  each  other  with  savage 
hate.  How  it  would  have  ended  God  knows,  had  the 
fellow  not  slipped  on  a  brush  root,  so  that  the  added 
weight  of  my  body  flung  him  headlong.  Even  as  he 
went  over,  bearing  me  along  with  him,  his  head  crash- 
ing into  the  side  of  a  tree  as  he  fell,  his  lips  gave  vent  to 
one  wild  cry.  Then  he  lay  still,  motionless,  a  huge 
black  shape  outstretched  on  the  ground  in  the  ghastly 
light  of  dawn. 

I  got  to  my  knees,  scarcely  realizing  what  had  hap- 
pened, peering  down  into  the  upturned  face,  one  hand 
raised  to  strike  if  the  man  moved.  There  was  not  a 

[190] 


I  Fight  a  Red-Coat 


motion.  I  bent  lower  —  the  eyes  were  closed,  blood 
dripped  from  the  hair.  I  turned  the  head,  so  as  to  bet- 
ter perceive  the  features  —  surely  this  was  not  the  man 
for  whom  I  had  been  mistaken !  He  was  big  enough, 
but  marked  by  dissipation,  and  wore  a  black  moustache. 
As  I  live  there  was  not  a  resemblance.  Who  was  he 
then?  I  got  to  my  feet  and  searched  out  my  rifle  in 
the  tangled  brush.  Some  noise  reached  me  —  the  splash 
of  water,  the  echo  of  a  far-off  voice.  They  were  com- 
ing, the  Indians ;  they  had  heard  his  last  cry ;  they 
were  already  crossing  the  ford.  I  hesitated  an  instant, 
staring  down  at  him,  listening  intently  that  I  might  be 
sure,  then  turned  and  ran  swiftly  toward  the  clearing. 
It  was  already  gray  dawn,  and  even  in  the  dense  woods 
I  could  see  to  avoid  the  trees.  Behind  me  rang  out  a 
wild  whoop  of  savagery ;  they  had  discovered  the  body ! 
I  glanced  back  across  my  shoulder,  as  I  ran;  burst 
forth  into  the  clearing,  and,  reckless  of  all  else,  raced 
for  the  house.  I  fell  once,  my  foot  slipping  on  a  hum- 
mock, but  was  up  instantly,  plunged  at  the  door,  and 
leaped  within.  Brady  caught  me,  thrust  the  wooden 
bars  down  into  their  sockets,  and  half  dragged  me  over 
to  the  bench. 

"  What  is  it?  are  they  coming?  "  he  asked. 

It  was  darker  in  there  than  outside,  and  I  could 
barely  perceive  his  face. 

[191] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Yes,"  I  panted.  "  They  are  just  behind  me.  I  — 
I  had  to  run  for  it.  Get  —  get  to  the  stations ;  I  '11  — 
I  '11  tell  you  later  what  happened  out  there." 

He  left  me,  and  my  eyes,  accustoming  themselves  to 
the  gloom,  began  to  discern  objects  in  the  room.  I  got 
to  my  feet,  still  breathing  heavily  from  exhaustion,  yet 
with  brain  active.  Brady  was  close  beside  me,  kneeling 
on  the  floor,  his  eye  at  an  opening  between  the  logs. 

"  See  anything?  " 

"  There  are  figures  moving  at  the  edge  of  the  wood," 
he  answered,  without  glancing  around,  "  but  they  don't 
come  out  so  I  can  tell  what  they  look  like.  The  way 
your  clothes  are  torn  you  must  have  had  a  fight?  " 

"  I  did  —  with  the  big  fellow  in  a  red  j  acket.  He  's 
lying  out  there  with  a  cracked  skull.  That  is  why 
those  fellows  do  n't  know  what  to  do  —  they  're  short  a 
leader." 

I  got  to  my  feet,  and  stared  about,  seeking  Made- 
moiselle. She  was  beyond  the  table,  and  our  eyes  met. 

"You  —  you  killed  him,  Monsieur?" 

"  I  do  not  know ;  I  threw  him,  his  head  struck  against 
a  tree,  and  he  lay  still.  I  had  to  run ;  only  he  was  not 
your  man,  Mademoiselle ;  he  looked  no  more  like  me  than 
you  do." 

"  You  —  you  are  sure  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  saw  his  face.  It  was  lighter  out  there,  and 
[192] 


I  Fight  a  Red-Coat 


he  lay  flat  on  his  back.  He  was  big  enough,  if  anything 
larger  even  than  I  am,  and  gave  me  a  fight  for  it  until 
his  foot  slipped.  He  had  black  hair  and  moustache, 
and  his  face  was  full  of  purple  veins.  He  looked  French 
to  me." 

"  Yet  wore  a  red  coat  ?  " 

"  Ay !  and  swore  in  English,  the  one  oath  I  heard. 
You  know  anyone  like  that  ?  " 

There  was  a  shot  without,  and  the  chug  of  a  ball  as  it 
struck  against  the  logs;  then  another,  and  Brady's 
voice  tense  with  strain: 

"  They  're  goin'  to  try  it,  an'  ther  's  sure  some 
Injuns  out  ther;  the  whol'  edge  o'  the  woods  is  alive 
with  'em.  Get  ready  now!  This  ain't  goin'  ter  be  no 
slouch  o'  a  fight." 

I  sprang  across  to  the  nearest  opening,  yet  stopped 
to  be  sure  of  the  arrangement  within.  The  gray  light 
stealing  in  through  the  small  firing  holes  failed  to  give 
distinct  view  across  the  room. 

"  Where  are  you,  Schultz  ?  " 

"  Here  mit  der  front." 

"  Oh,  all  right ;  what  has  become  of  your  friend  ?  " 

"  He  vas  to  load ;  he  do  dot,  but  not  fight.  Maybe 
dot  help  some,  do  n't  it?  " 

I  saw  the  man  then,  his  white  face  showing  dimly, 
and  before  him  three  rifles  lying  across  the  table. 

[193] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  You  found  more  guns  ?  " 

Brady  glanced  aside  to  answer. 

"  The  girl  did ;  she  knew  where  they  were  —  ah !  now 
the  rumpus  has  begun !  " 

Reports,  blending  almost  into  a  volley,  sounded 
without,  the  thud  of  lead  striking  the  logs  in  dull  echo. 
One  stray  ball  found  entrance,  splintered  an  edge  of 
the  bench,  and  flattened  out  against  the  stone  chimney. 
I  dropped  to  one  knee,  my  eyes  at  the  opening. 


[104] 


CHAPTER  XX 

WE   MEET   THEM    WITH    RIFLES 

Q^MALL  as  my  peek  hole  was,  just  large  enough 
^"^  to  admit  a  rifle  barrel,  it  yet  afforded  clear  view  to 
east  and  south  of  the  house.  The  gray,  pallid  light  of 
early  dawn  enabled  me  to  see  across  the  clearing,  and 
into  the  edge  of  the  surrounding  forest.  The  Indians 
had  not  yet  broken  from  cover,  but  were  hovering 
among  the  trees,  occasionally  firing  at  the  house,  but 
careful  not  to  expose  themselves.  I  could  perceive  dark 
forms  flitting  about,  more  like  shadows  than  flesh  and 
blood,  gliding  from  tree  to  tree.  The  constant  move- 
ment gave  me  the  impression  of  force,  and  caused  me 
to  believe  they  contemplated  an  open  attack.  No  doubt 
our  silence  puzzled,  for  while  they  were  assured  of  our 
presence,  they  possessed  no  real  knowledge  as  to  our 
numbers,  or  how  well  we  were  armed.  Yet,  even  at 
that,  they  must  be  aware  that  we  were  only  a  small 
party ;  this  could  have  been  ascertained  from  our  trail, 
and  the  Englishman  no  doubt  had  partial  view  of  us 
when  he  stole  back  after  his  coat.  Their  delay  and 
hesitation  was  probably  mere  Indian  caution;  besides 
they  were  of  different  tribes,  possibly  without  leader- 

[195] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


ship  since  my  combat  with  that  white  renegade.  Yet, 
merciful  God!  there  were  enough  of  them!  They  could 
crush  us  easily  if  they  only  dared.  It  was  mystery  that 
held  them  back  —  the  grim  look  of  the  dark,  silent 
cabin,  the  big  log  walls,  the  loopholes  invisible,  the 
uncertainty  of  what  hid  behind.  Our  failure  to  reply 
to  their  volleys  gave  no  encouragement;  they  had 
learned  to  respect  the  rifles  of  white  men,  and  dreaded 
to  stir  up  a  hornet's  nest. 

As  I  gazed,  striving  to  determine  what  the  various 
movements  meant,  and  from  which  direction  to  antici- 
pate final  attack,  an  Indian  crept  out  into  the  open, 
crawling  on  his  stomach  like  a  snake  through  the  grass. 
Others  followed,  until  a  dozen  wriggling  forms  began 
to  advance  inch  by  inch,  hugging  the  ground  so  closely 
I  could  scarcely  perceive  their  movement.  I  heard  a 
slight  sound  within,  as  Brady  quietly  thrust  forward 
his  rifle. 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  I  called  to  him,  not  venturing  to 
glance  about,  but  holding  up  one  hand  in  warning,  "  it 
is  a  long  shot  yet,  and  we  must  make  every  one  tell. 
Wait  until  the  first  fellow  is  half  across ;  then  pick  your 
man.  Who  is  at  the  loophole  beyond  us  ?  " 

"  It  is  I,  Monsieur." 

"  You,  Mademoiselle !  Hadn't  you  better  let  Schultz 
take  that  place  ?  " 

I  196] 


We  Meet  Them  with  Rifles 


"  An'  why,  Monsieur?  "  —  the  soft  voice  coolly  indig- 
nant. **  Am  I  afraid?  Am  I  unable  to  shoot?  Why 
should  I  not  stay  ?  " 

"  Those  are  Indians,"  I  began,  "  I  thought —  " 

"  Bah !  my  people !  those  robbers  and  cowards.  I 
told  you  there  is  no  Wyandot  among  them.  You  will 
see,  Monsieur." 

"  All  right  then.  I  take  that  first  one,  and  you  pick 
the  two  to  the  left.  Fire  when  I  give  the  word.  Schultz 
lay  out  one  of  those  extra  guns  beside  each  of  us. 
Ready  now;  the  fellows  who  are  not  hit  will  jump  and 
run  for  the  woods  as  soon  as  we  fire;  give  them  a  sec- 
ond shot  before  they  can  reach  cover." 

The  one  in  advance,  whom  I  had  picked  for  a  shot, 
had  on  a  war-bonnet,  the  feathers  plainly  visible  above 
the  grass,  making  it  easier  for  me  to  mark  his  progress. 
The  others  slightly  behind  were  not  so  easily  dis- 
tinguished, yet  I  was  certain  there  were  no  more  than  a 
dozen  altogether  in  the  party,  and  we  were  being  ap- 
proached from  no  other  direction.  The  apparently 
solid  walls  of  log,  windowless,  had  doubtless  inspired  the 
warriors  with  hope  of  crawling  up  unobserved.  Once 
close  in  they  would  be  safe  enough,  and  could  creep 
around  to  the  door.  Back  in  the  forest  shadow  the  main 
body  clustered,  waiting  the  success  of  this  effort,  to  rush 
forward  and  storm  their  way  within. 

[197] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


Never  before  had  I  realized  how  stealthily  an  Indian 
can  move  on  such  mission ;  with  what  ingenuity  he  can 
find  concealment.  They  must  have  drawn  themselves 
forward  by  grasping  the  tough  grass  roots,  for  no  head 
was  uplifted,  no  raised  arm  visible.  Only  the  slight 
disturbance  of  the  grass  made  me  certain  as  to  their 
stealthy  advance.  The  feathers  of  the  war-bonnet, 
worn  possibly  as  a  guidance  to  those  behind,  were  alone 
conspicuous.  They  came  on  slowly,  cautiously.  Half 
way  across  the  clearing  was  the  white  stump  of  a  fallen 
tree.  The  war-bonnet  made  directly  for  this,  and,  once 
partially  sheltered,  lifted  his  head  to  glance  back.  I 
covered  him  with  the  sight  of  my  rifle. 

"  Ready  now !  "  I  commanded  sharply.  "  Let  them 
have  it  — •  fire !  " 

The  three  guns  spoke  as  one,  the  smoke  of  their  dis- 
charge for  an  instant  blotting  out  the  scene,  yet  not 
before  I  saw  war-bonnet  crumple  up  beside  the  stump, 
and  a  warrior  just  behind  him  leap  into  the  air  with 
both  arms  flung  out.  I  gripped  the  fresh  gun  beside  me, 
and  fired  again  into  a  huddle  of  fleeing  figures,  hearing 
the  sharp  crack  of  the  two  others,  as  the  blue  smoke 
blew  back  into  my  eyes.  One  Indian  fell  forward  claw- 
ing at  the  ground;  another  staggered  wildly,  yet  kept 
his  feet.  A  chorus  of  yells  rent  the  air,  and  the  flee- 
ing forms  vanished  into  the  fringe  of  woods.  A  fusillade 

[198] 


We  Meet  Them  with  Rifles 


of  bullets  chugged  harmlessly  into  the  protecting  logs, 
blue  puffs  of  smoke  rising  between  the  distant  trees,  but 
nothing  remained  visible  for  us  to  fire  at. 

The  cabin  was  dense  with  powder  smoke,  which  found 
no  outlet  except  up  the  chimney.  The  preacher  on  his 
knees  was  busily  loading  our  discarded  guns,  and  pray- 
ing fervently  as  did  so.  I  could  see  the  movement  of 
his  lips,  and  hear  the  monotonous  muttering  of  his  voice. 
Brady  straightened  up,  wiping  the  perspiration  from 
his  forehead  with  his  sleeve.  As  his  gray  eyes  met  mine 
through  the  circling  smoke,  they  smiled  cheerily. 

"  We  made  our  mark  that  time,  Master  Hayward," 
he  said  grimly,  loading  his  own  rifle.  "  Although  our 
preacher  friend  gave  me  an  overcharge  of  powder. 
There's  one  Injun  out  there  who  ought  to  be  grateful 
for  it.  I  counted  five  down,  an'  the  fellow  I  winged 
won't  fight  again  today." 

"  Five  killed !  " 

"  Ay !  the  girl  got  her  share.  You  have  some  skill 
with  a  rifle,  Mademoiselle." 

She  picked  up  one  of  the  newly  loaded  guns,  laying 
down  her  own  upon  the  bench,  her  eyes  meeting  his 
frankly,  and  then  turning  to  my  face.  I  thought  I 
read  in  their  depths  a  regret,  as  though  she  doubted  my 
approval. 

"  It  is  not  pleasant  to  take  human  life,  Monsieur," 
[199] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


she  answered  softly.  "  I  am  not  Indian  enough  to  love 
bloodshed.  But  —  but  this  was  justified,  and  so  I 
aimed  true." 

"  We  are  grateful,  not  critical,"  I  made  haste  to  say. 
"  We  are  fighting  for  our  lives.  Think  you  they  have 
had  enough,  Brady?  " 

The  scout  shook  his  head,  leaning  forward  to  glance 
again  out  of  his  loop-hole. 

"  Not  if  I  know  Injuns.  Did  yer  hear  that  yell? 
They  're  mad  now,  an'  crazy  for  revenge ;  only  they  '11 
be  more  cautious  next  time ;  ain't  that  it,  Miss  ?  " 

"  It  depends  upon  who  leads  them,"  she  answered 
slowly.  "  They  can  be  reckless  enough  if  urged  to  it.  I 
think  the  next  attack  will  be  open." 

"  Because  of  white  leadership?  " 

"  Partially  —  yes,  Monsieur.  You  did  not  think  the 
Englishman  killed." 

"  No ;  only  stunned.  I  had  no  time  to  make  sure,  bub 
he  merely  fell  against  the  tree;  it  was  no  blow  suf- 
ficient to  kill  a  man." 

"  And  there  are  other  reasons,"  she  went  on,  glancing 
toward  Brady  who  was  still  gazing  without  earnestly. 
"  They  will  be  savage  for  revenge,  and  they  know  how 
few  are  defending  the  house.  Beyond  doubt  they  have 
already  discovered  your  trail  on  the  other  shore;  our 
firing  from  three  loop-holes  will  serve  to  convince  them 

[200] 


We  Meet  Them  with  Rifles 


that  only  the  three  are  here;  they  know  nothing  of 
where  I  am,  or  where  the  preacher  went." 

"  He  will  not  help  us  much." 

She  looked  at  him,  smiling  at  his  long-drawn  lugu- 
brious face. 

"  Hclas!  not  much  of  a  warrior."  Her  words  broken 
from  excitement.  "  Never  before  did  I  meet  such  a 
white  man.  Why  he  pray  so,  all  the  time,  Monsieur?  " 

"  Afraid  to  die,  I  reckon." 

"  'T  is  droll ;  an'  yet  he  think  he  go  to  Heaven  ?  It 
should  make  him  glad;  was  it  not  so?  And  he  not 
believe  to  fight  ?  It  was  in  my  Bible  to  fight,  most  every 
page.  We  have  the  same  Bible ;  how  he  find  in  it  what 
I  not  find?  different  as  what  the  priests  teach?  " 

"  Do  not  ask  me,"  I  replied,  amused  by  her  earnest- 
ness. "  Perhaps  he  can  tell ;  he  looks  as  if  it  would  be  a 
great  relief  to  preach  you  a  sermon." 

"  Him !  he  cannot  talk  —  no  !  he  only  grunt  —  houf, 
houf,  like  a  pig.  I  know  nothing  he  say.  Why  you 
suppose  the  man  look  at  me  like  that.  Monsieur?  He 
think  me  maybe  a  savage,  a  mad  woman?  " 

I  laughed  at  the  expression  on  her  face  as  she  looked 
toward  him.  To  me  he  was  simply  a  wild-eyed  zealot, 
half  crazed  by  religious  frenzy,  with  only  one  idea  float- 
ing about  in  his  cracked  brain. 

"  No  doubt  you  appear  as  strange  to  him  as  he  does 
[201] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


to  you.  There  is  nothing  in  common  between  you, 
either  in  religion  or  race.  You  represent  to  his  mind 
all  that  is  evil  in  the  world.  You  are  of  French  blood, 
a  papist,  a  consorter  with  savages  —  everything  he  has 
been  taught  to  despise  from  childhood.  Could  the  poor 
fellow  speak  either  your  language  or  mine,  we  would 
have  a  denunciation  breathing  of  hell  fire.  'T  is  God's 
mercy  we  are  spared." 

She  laughed,  her  eyes  dancing  with  sudden  gleam  of 
mischief. 

"  He  hate  me  —  the  man  ?  He  hold  it  evil  that  I 
make  prayer  with  the  rosary?  "  and  her  hands  fingered 
the  beads  at  her  throat.  "  I  show  him,  I  tell  him, 
what  the  Bible  tell  me.  Monsieur  Schultz,  you  will 
interpret  here." 

The  soldier  turned  at  the  sound  of  his  name,  and 
crossed  the  room  in  response  to  her  gesture.  All  eager- 
ness, her  fingers  clasped  his  arm,  her  voice  speaking 
swiftly,  yet  tripping  oddly  over  unfamiliar  words : 

"  Monsieur,  you  talk  the  Dutch,  the  English,  but  not 
the  French  —  is  it  not  so  ?  Ver'  good !  I  tell  you  in 
the  English  vot  I  am ;  how  I  pray  the  good  God ;  how  I 
believe,  an'  you  tell  it  to  him  vat  I  say  in  the  Dutch. 
You  hear,  you  understand,  Monsieur  ?  " 

Schultz's  round,  good-humored  face,  plainly  exhibit- 
ing his  bewilderment,  turned  questioningly  toward  me. 


We  Meet  Them  with  Rifles 


The  girl  noting  his  hesitancy,  shook  her  head,  and  gave 
utterance  to  a  French  exclamation. 

"  She  wishes  to  explain  the  nature  of  her  religion  to 
your  friend  over  there,"  I  said  slowly.  "  She  asks  you 
to  listen  to  what  she  says,  and  then  translate  her  words 
into  your  own  language." 

"To  him,  mit  mine  tongue  —  Mynheer  Block?  Gott 
mit  Himmel!  dot  vould  do  no  good.  He  dink  her  der 
child  ov  der  tevil!  he  stop  up  his  ears  mit  both  hands 
—  see,  like  dot.  But  I  tol'  him;  I  say  to  him  just  vot 
she  say,  only  she  talk  slow,  so  I  hear  der  words  better." 

He  sat  down  on  the  bench,  rifle  between  his  knees,  his 
blue  eyes  on  her  face,  patiently  waiting.  The  perplexed 
preacher  never  moved,  never  relaxed  his  stern  features, 
staring  at  the  two  of  them,  as  if  already  suspicioning 
their  purpose.  Mademoiselle  made  a  little  gesture  with 
her  hands,  and  began  to  speak,  but  almost  with  her  first 
word,  the  deep  voice  of  Block  interrupted.  Schultz,  his 
troubled  eyes  wandering  from  face  to  face,  answered  by 
a  grumbling  sentence,  then  reverted  into  English: 

"  He  vant  to  know  vat  it  all  vos.  Maybe  I  told  him 
furst,  don't  it?  " 

"  Out,  out!  you  say  it  to  him." 

Schultz  started  bravely  enough,  one  hand  laid  heavily 
on  the  preacher's  shoulder,  as  though  to  hold  him 
steady,  slowly  ejaculating  the  message  in  Dutch,  I 

[203] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


saw  the  expression  of  bewilderment  upon  Block's  face 
turn  to  horror.  With  uplifted  hands  he  suddenly  gave 
tongue,  the  words  tripping  over  each  other.  It  was  all 
Schultz  could  do  to  stop  him,  but  at  last  the  fellow  sank 
back  against  the  table,  breathing  heavily.  The  soldier 
wiped  the  perspiration  from  his  red  face,  still  eyeing 
his  countryman. 

"  I  vos  mad  mit  a  religion  like  dot,"  he  exclaimed 
fervently.  "  I  not  told  you  vot  he  said ;  he  go  crazy, 
an'  make  me  mad;  he  say  dos  dings  I  not  vould  told 
you.  But  he  leesen  now.  I  tell  him  I  kill  him,  here, 
now,  mit  dis  gun,  if  he  not  keep  still.  Mein  Gott!  I 
vos  just  as  good  Dutcher  as  dot  man.  Why  he  call  me 
son  of  Belial  —  hey  ?  I  tinks  he  keep  still  now,  or  I 
shoke  him  gut ;  he  find  out  vot  son  I  am  —  maybe  yes. 
You  talk  mit  me,  an*  I  told  him.  If  dot  fellow  don't 
shut  up  quick  mit  his  mouth  I  smash  it.  Vat  do  I  care 
vot  he  vos !  Vy  he  calls  me  dot  —  hey !  " 

As  he  ceased  from  sheer  lack  of  breath,  she  began  to 
speak.  I  heard  the  first  few  words,  earnest,  plead- 
ing. She  was  very  serious,  apparently  she  saw  noth- 
ing in  the  scene  to  amuse  any  one,  her  whole  mind  con- 
centrated on  bringing  to  these  men  some  measure  of  her 
own  faith.  She  was  the  missionary,  forgetful  of  all 
else,  even  the  peril  in  which  we  were,  in  her  awakened 
eagerness  to  tell  again  the  story  of  the  Cross.  Her 

[204] 


We  Meet  Them  with  Rifles 


face  brightened,  her  eyes  darkened ;  there  was  about  her 
a  strange  new  dignity,  as  of  one  speaking  by  authority. 
Somehow  as  I  stood  there  looking  at  her,  listening  to  her 
broken  words,  watching  the  changing  expression  on  her 
face,  the  flush  on  her  cheeks,  as  she  paused  to  permit  the 
soldier  to  slowly  translate,  her  lips  parted  with  eager- 
ness to  proceed,  she  was  no  longer  a  girl,  a  wild  thing  of 
the  woods,  bubbling  over  with  animal  life,  but  a  woman, 
earnest,  sincere ;  one  to  be  loved  and  trusted  —  one  to 
be  true  to  the  death.  I  had  forgotten  also  as  I  stood 
there,  looking  and  listening,  the  memory  of  where  we 
were.  The  dark  forests,  the  savages  hemming  us  in,  the 
desperate  situation  almost  without  hope,  vanished.  For 
the  instant  I  thought  only  of  her,  heard  only  her  voice. 
Yet  it  was  merely  for  the  instant.  I  have  no  recol- 
lection now  of  a  word  she  uttered.  It  was  not  so  much 
what  was  spoken  as  the  manner,  the  reverence  of  voice, 
the  sincerity  of  face  and  expression.  She  had  uncon- 
sciously revealed  herself.  In  her  eagerness  to  defend 
her  religion,  to  bring  her  own  faith  to  others,  she  had 
given  me  a  glimpse  of  her  very  soul.  Hereafter  she 
might  laugh  and  play,  her  eyes  dance  with  merrimert, 
but  I  knew  now  what  was  beneath  —  the  heart  of  a 
woman.  Then,  as  though  aroused  from  a  dream  to  the 
reality  of  life,  I  heard  my  name  called.  It  was  Brady, 
glancing  about  from  his  loop-hole,  and  motioning  me 

[205  ] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


with  his  hand.  I  crossed  hurriedly  to  join  him,  again 
the  soldier. 

"  What  is  it  ?  Can  you  guess  what  they  mean 
to  do?" 

"  No,  but  they  seem  to  be  forming  there  to  the  right; 
bend  down  here;  see,  back  among  those  trees.  Ay! 
and  your  red-coat  is  among  the  devils,  I  've  caught 
glimpse  of  him  twice." 


[  206  ] 


CHAPTER  XXI 

WITHIN   THE   CABIN 

\\  7TTH  eye  held  close  against  the  opening  I  pos- 
sessed a  sight  of  the  full  length  of  the  clearing. 
It  was  bright  daylight  now,  although  the  sun  had  not 
appeared  above  the  trees,  and  the  eye  could  not  pene- 
trate far  into  the  darker  shadows  of  the  wood.  The 
clearing  itself  was  deserted,  but  the  dead  Indians  lay 
where  they  had  fallen,  no  effort  having  been  made  to  re- 
cover the  bodies.  They  were  well  within  rifle  shot  from 
the  house,  and  those  who  had  been  fortunate  enough  to 
escape  our  fusillade,  were  sufficiently  impressed  with 
the  fact  that  we  were  not  wasting  powder  and  ball.  To 
venture  into  that  clearing  plainly  meant  death.  The 
dead  could  wait  for  darkness,  or  until  the  living  had 
achieved  revenge. 

I  grasped  the  situation  in  a  glance.  Brady  moved 
to  the  next  loop-hole,  and  knelt  down.  Behind  me  I 
heard  the  rumble  of  Schultz's  voice  as  he  translated 
slowly,  carefully  Mademoiselle's  broken  English,  but  my 
mind  was  concentrated  now  on  other  things.  Opposite 
me  I  could  distinguish  an  Indian  or  two,  skulking  in  the 
tree  shadows,  well  out  of  range  —  sentries,  no  doubt, 

[207] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


stationed  to  guard  against  any  possibility  of  our  escape. 
Yes,  and  there  were  others  also  along  the  fringe  of 
forest  to  the  left,  although  only  occasionally  did  a  half 
naked  form  flit  into  view.  The  only  place,  however, 
where  there  was  any  evidence  of  numbers,  was  well  to 
the  right.  What  was  going  on  there  was  not  altogether 
clear,  as  my  eyes  failed  to  penetrate  the  thick  growth 
of  trees.  But  there  was  movement,  and  enough  was 
revealed  to  convince  me  that  there  was  being  gathered 
the  main  body  of  our  besiegers.  They  were  either  in 
council,  or  else  massing  for  an  attack.  Yet  it  was  not 
at  all  likely  that  a  council  would  be  held  so  close,  almost, 
if  not  quite  within  rifle  shot.  The  other  supposition 
was  far  the  more  probable.  Indeed,  as  I  stared  at  the 
dimly  revealed  figures,  clustered  together,  or  moving 
swiftly  about,  this  impression  deepened.  They  were 
forming  for  assault,  for  a  swift  rush  forward,  trusting 
that  the  suddenness  of  their  attack  would  put  them 
across  that  open  space  without  great  danger.  They  had 
tried  stealth  and  failed ;  now  they  would  try  recklessness. 
The  very  choice  was  evidence  of  white  leadership.  An 
Indian  leader  would  be  patient  and  wait  for  darkness  to 
creep  up  unseen,  or  plan  to  starve  us  into  surrender. 
Only  a  white  man,  eager  and  dominant,  would  thus  risk 
lives  in  open  assault. 

It  occurred  to  me  they  were  unaware  that  we  could 
[208] 


Within  the  Cabin 


perceive  their  preparation.  They  had  no  thought  of 
exposing  themselves  until  they  burst  forth  from  cover, 
yelling  in  the  fierce  charge.  It  was,  indeed,  only  a  stray 
ray  of  sunlight  penetrating  through  the  leafy  covert, 
which  afforded  us  a  glimpse.  We  could  see  but  little, 
merely  enough  to  stimulate  suspicion  —  a  sense  of  num- 
bers, figures  moving  about  restlessly,  coming  and  going 
across  that  revealing  shaft  of  sunshine ;  ay !  and  once 
I  caught  the  sudden  glow  of  a  red  coat.  More,  the 
place  of  gathering  told  its  own  story.  Here  a  point  of 
woodland  pressed  out  into  the  clearing  a  bit  nearer  to 
the  house  than  anywhere  else.  It  shortened  the  distance 
of  exposure  by  several  yards,  and  besides  faced  the 
corner  of  the  hut,  thus  interfering  with  direct  fire  from 
within.  Master  Red-Coat  knew  his  business  —  't  was  a 
pity  I  had  failed  to  kill  him. 

"  What  do  you  make  of  it,  Brady  ?  "  I  asked.  "  Are 
they  going  to  rush  us  ?  " 

"  Ay !  "  quietly  enough,  but  without  turning  his  head, 
"and  soon.  The  guards  are  joining  those  others  now. 
They  are  getting  into  line  already;  Red-Coat  is  flying 
about  giving  orders  like  a  field  marshal.  Lord !  I  wish 
he  would  come  out  into  the  open,  where  I  could  get  a 
shot  at  him,  the  coward !  "  he  glanced  about,  for  the 
moment  losing  his  temper.  "  What  are  those  two  Dutch 
fools  jabbering  away  about  back  there?  " 

[209] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Mademoiselle  is  explaining  her  religion." 

"  Huh !  they  '11  know  which  one  is  right  soon  enough, 
I  reckon,  without  all  that  palaver.  Here  you,  Schultz, 
pick  up  your  rifle,  man,  and  go  back  to  your  loop-hole. 
Break  up  the  meeting,  Hayward.  There  's  plenty  for 
all  of  us  to  do  besides  talk." 

Apparently  neither  man  heard  him,  for  both  were 
talking  together,  rolling  out  their  interminable  sen- 
tences. Schultz  was  red  with  wrath,  pounding  on  the 
table  with  one  huge  hand,  but  the  preacher's  face  was 
white  as  chalk,  his  eyes  blazing.  Mademoiselle,  helpless 
in  midst  of  all  this  turmoil  which  she  had  so  innocently 
started,  stood  back  of  the  bench,  staring  at  the  two 
debaters,  with  lips  parted,  breathless,  and  unable  to  get 
in  a  word.  Her  bewilderment  was  apparent,  nor  could 
she  conceive  what  had  caused  all  this  commotion,  this 
thrashing  of  arms,  and  loud  declamation.  Brady  strode 
forward,  a  fighting  look  on  his  face,  and  gripped  Schultz 
by  the  shoulder,  swinging  him  half  across  the  room. 

"  Maybe  you  '11  hear  me  now,  you  Dutch  nuisance," 
he  growled  fiercely.  "  Pick  up  the  gun,  and  get  back 
to  your  place ;  and  as  for  you  Mister,  you  '11  wait  until 
you  get  out  of  here  to  do  your  preaching.  Oh!  you 
do  n't  know  what  I  say,  hey  ?  Come  back  here, 
Schultz,  and  tell  him  —  tell  him  what  I  say ;  tell  him 
we  '11  be  fighting  for  life  in  five  minutes,  and  if  he  does  n't 

[£10] 


Within  the  Cabin 


keep  those  guns  loaded  and  ready,  this  is  goin'  to  be  his 
last  day  on  earth.  You  say  that  to  him,  an'  say  it 
strong ;  put  it  in  Dutch  so  it  blisters.  What  Js  that, 
Miss?  Yes,  them  cusses  is  gittin'  ready  now,  out  thar' 
at  the  edge  of  the  patch ;  nigh  a  hundred,  I  reckon  from 
what  little  I  kin  see." 

"  Where  do  you  want  me  ?  " 

"  Here  where  I  am,"  I  broke  in  quickly,  and  caught 
her  hand  in  mine.  "  See !  they  are  coming  from  that 
corner.  You  can  cover  the  field  from  this  loop-hole 
until  they  near  the  house.  The  assault  will  be  in  front : 
an  effort  to  break  in  the  door,  Mademoiselle." 

Something  in  my  voice,  low,  spoken  only  for  her  ear, 
caused  her  to  glance  up  into  my  face. 

"What  is  it,  Monsieur?" 

"  You  will  stay  here ;  you  will  not  attempt  to  come 
to  us  if  the  Indians  succeed  in  breaking  down  the  door. 
I  must  have  your  promise." 

"  Why  do  you  ask  that?  " 

"  Because  such  a  sacrifice  of  your  life  would  be  un- 
necessary, and  would  avail  nothing.  Those  savages  will 
not  injure  you ;  they  will  suppose  you  were  our  prisoner. 
They  know  you  as  a  Wyandot;  at  least  the  Ojibwas 
and  Miamis  do,  and  will  protect  you  from  the  Shawnees. 
You  have  done  all  possible  to  help  us ;  but  I  beg  you  to 
keep  back  when  it  comes  hand  to  hand." 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  But  could  I  not  help  you  even  more  by  facing  those 
warriors  alone?  "  she  insisted.  "  They  know  me;  they 
will  listen.  Even  those  Shawnees  have  heard  my  name, 
it  is  spoken  in  their  villages.  Not  one  of  them  would 
lay  hand  on  Running  Water.  Let  me  go  out  there,  now, 
Monsieur,  and  tell  them  your  mission  is  peace." 

"  Mademoiselle,"  I  said  soberly,  "  we  are  too  late  for 
that.  There  are  five  dead  warriors  lying  out  there, 
shot  by  our  rifles.  It  is  not  in  Indian  nature  to  forgive. 
Nothing  is  left  us  but  to  fight.  No  words  of  yours 
could  control  those  wild  beasts,  thirsting  for  revenge. 
Aim  I  not  right?" 

Her  eyes  fell,  hidden  behind  long  lashes. 

"  I  —  I  do  not  know,"  she  admitted  f  alteringly. 
"  But  —  but  there  is  a  chance.  I  could  try ;  if  I  was 
only  sure  of  that  white  man." 

"  Ay !  but  you  are  not  sure,  except  that  he  is  probably 
a  murderer  and  renegade.  Such  as  he  are  worse  sav- 
ages than  any  of  red  skin;  they  are  traitors  to  their 
own  race,  cruel  and  merciless.  No!  I  will  not  permit 
such  an  attempt.  Even  if  they  met  you  with  open 
hands,  it  would  be  but  a  mask  to  treachery.  It  is  bet- 
ter that  we  fight  it  out  like  men.  Only  you  must  prom- 
ise me  what  I  ask !  " 

"Must,  Monsieur?" 

"  The  word  was  ill-chosen  —  I  beg  the  pledge.  I  ask 
[212] 


Within  the  Cabin 


it  as  a  man  appealing  to  a  woman.  That  is  what  you 
are  to  me,  Mademoiselle  —  a  woman ;  a  woman  to  be 
protected,  sacrificed  for,  loved.  I  had  forgotten  that 
there  is  a  drop  of  Indian  blood  in  your  veins.  Yet  now 
I  am  glad  there  is  —  it  will  save  you  from  outrage  and 
death.  I  am  glad  for  another  reason  —  it  will  enable 
you  to  understand  what  I  mean." 

She  was  looking  at  me  now  gravely,  her  dark  eyes 
wide  open. 

"  You  mean  that  the  French  and  Indian  combined 
will  understand,  Monsieur?"  she  questioned.  "You 
wish  to  fight  with  free  hands,  with  no  thought  of  danger 
coming  to  me?  " 

"  Yes,  but  that  is  not  all.  I  cannot  bear  the  thought 
of  your  being  caught  in  the  ruck,  if  those  devils  break 
through." 

She  took  my  hand  in  both  her  own,  the  rifle  against 
her  shoulder. 

"  Monsieur,  I  know,"  she  said  slowly.  "  It  is  you 
would  have  me  a  woman ;  that  I  let  the  men  fight  for  me. 
You  would  think  of  me  so:  as  one  of  your  race,  what 
you  call  the  gentle.  Have  I  not  the  thought  right?  " 

I  bowed,  making  some  answer. 

"  You  would  remember  me  like  that ;  I  would  be  so 
in  your  mind  —  a  womari,  not  a  savage.  It  would  give 
you  happiness  to  think  of  me  like  that?  " 

[213] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Yes." 

There  was  a  mist  like  gathering  tears  in  the  uplifted 
eyes. 

"  Only  my  father  ever  say  that  to  me  before,"  she 
whispered  softly.  "  He  told  me  of  those  he  knew  in 
France  and  loved :  of  les  grandes  dames  who  were  gentle, 
and  bore  our  name.  I  tried  to  understand,  and  become 
as  he  said.  But  it  was  hard,  Monsieur.  The  Indian 
camp  teaches  other  things.  Only  from  the  nuns  at 
Montreal  did  I  learn  what  he  meant;  they  were  gentle, 
kind;  often  they  shamed  me.  I  see  it  most  beautiful 
then ;  in  their  faces,  in  what  they  say  to  me  when  I  do 
right.  They  tell  me  it  please  Christ,  an'  I  think  so  too. 
But  I  forget ;  back  in  the  woods  I  become  Indian  again. 
I  see  it  no  more,  only  when  my  father  tell  over  his  old 
stories.  I  find  it  easy  to  hate,  and  hard  to  love.  What 
chance  have  I,  Monsieur?  It  was  always  Indians  where 
I  must  live;  only  the  French  traders,  rough  men  all,  an' 
the  red-coats  who  would  make  love  to  me,  an'  care 
nothing.  I  have  not  known  white  women ;  nevaire  but 
in  Montreal.  So  I  have  thought  as  the  Indian  thinks, 
an'  lived  as  the  Indian  lives.  It  is  not  my  blame  that  I 
grew  up,  Monsieur,  wild,  reckless,  but  for  the  faith,  of 
the  dear  Christ." 

"But  you  will  do  as  I  ask  now?  You  will  be  the 
white  girl,  and  not  the  Wy andot  ?  " 

[214] 


Within  the  Cabin 


"  It  is  your  wish,  Monsieur  ?  you  like  me  better  so  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Rene,  I  think  I  shall  fight  a  better  fight  if  you 
promise  me." 

She  looked  at  me  long,  as  though  the  words  hesitated 
on  her  lips ;  then  laughed,  tossing  her  head. 

"  Then  I  promise,  Monsieur.  I  will  do  it  because  to 
you  it  is  womanly ;  I  —  I  want  you  to  think  of  me  like 
that  —  a  —  a  woman.  Is  it  not  strange,  Monsieur ! 
Nevaire  before,  but  when  the  nuns  talked,  did  I  care. 
It  was  joy  to  me  to  be  wild,  to  be  forest  born  and  bred, 
to  be  a  Wyandot.  Poof!  what  do  I  care  for  what  the 
whites  did !  They  were  not  my  people ;  I  despised  them ; 
they  were  so  many  fools.  But  Monsieur,  you  have  not 
been  like  the  others ;  non,  non,  you  were  deeferent.  You 
spoke  to  me  kind,  with  sympathy ;  you  —  you  made  me 
feel  I  was  not  just  an  Indian  squaw.  You  were  a  man 
like  my  father  —  big,  strong,  good,  and  —  and  you 
care  for  me  a  little;  do  you  not,  Monsieur?  " 

I  pressed  her  hands  in  my  own  —  how  strong  and 
brown  they  were  —  then,  obeying  some  swift  impulse, 
bent  and  kissed  them.  The  red  flamed  into  her  cheeks. 

"  It  was  like  that  they  do  in  France,  Monsieur,  in 
greeting  to  their  fine  ladies,"  she  said  shyly.  "  I  have 
read  it  in  my  father's  books.  It  was  better  than  to 
speak,  Monsieur.  I  care  too.  I  care  so  much  it  make 
me  afraid." 

[215] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Not  of  me  surely  ?  " 

"  I  know  not ;  it  might  be  of  you,  it  might  be  of  me. 
Ah !  Mother  of  God !  it  is  the  war  whoop !  " 

"They're  comin',  Hayward!"  sang  out  Brady,  a 
sting  in  his  voice.  "  For  God's  sake  hurry !  " 

I  was  beside  him  with  a  single  leap,  yet,  even  as  I 
sprang  forward,  I  saw  her  drop  to  her  knees,  and 
caught  the  gleam  of  her  lifted  rifle  as  she  thrust  its 
barrel  through  the  loop-hole. 


[216] 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   FIGHT   IN   THE   CABIN 

TT  was  still,  ominously  so,  without,  after  that  one 
wild,  piercing  cry  which  yet  vibrated  in  ray  ears. 
That  it  was  some  signal  I  comprehended  at  once,  and 
my  mind  instantly  cleared  for  action.  Brady  had  his 
eyes  at  the  opening  between  the  logs. 

"Where  is  Schultz?" 

"  The  other  side  the  door;  lay  your  extra  gun  here ; 
hell  will  break  loose  in  a  minute." 

I  pressed  back  the  wooden  shutter,  kneeling  to  look 
out.  For  an  instant,  blinded  by  the  bright  light,  I  saw 
nothing,  then,  back  in  the  edge  of  the  timber,  I  could 
dimly  distinguish  the  groups  of  savages,  stripped  for 
fighting,  their  naked  bodies  gleaming.  I  knew  little 
then  of  Indian  warfare,  yet  it  occurred  to  me  that  the 
representatives  of  each  tribe  were  gathered  together, 
and  I  watched  the  war-bonnets  moving  from  group  to 
group,  as  final  orders  were  passed  among  them.  Only 
once  did  I  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  red  jacket,  as  its 
wearer  stood  at  the  foot  of  a  huge  tree,  suddenly  out- 
lined by  a  ray  of  sun  finding  opening  through  the  leaves 
above.  As  I  caught  view  of  him,  he  flung  up  one  red 

[217] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


arm,  a  rifle  grasped  in  his  hand,  and,  as  if  it  was  a  sig- 
nal, voice  after  voice  whooped  in  savage  yell,  the  noise 
blending  into  one  fierce  scream,  horrible  and  menacing. 
Above  even  this  mad  volume  of  sound  there  was  a  shout 
of  command,  emphasized  by  the  discharge  of  a  dozen 
guns.  Then  out  of  the  smoke,  springing  forth  into  the 
open,  I  saw  the  devils  come.  It  was  as  if  hell  had 
broken  open  and  belched  them  forth.  Leaping  into  the 
air,  shrieking,  gesticulating,  weapons  uplifted,  red  skins 
glinting  in  the  sun,  black  hair  streaming  on  the  wind, 
they  sprang  forward,  racing  straight  across  the  open. 

"  Shawnees  !  "  roared  Brady.  "  Give  it  to  'em !  "  and 
he  pulled  trigger. 

Describe  what  followed  no  man  could.  It  was  pan- 
demonium, uproar,  action,  no  two  seconds  the  same.  I 
fired  twice,  three  times,  leaping  back  to  grasp  a  gun 
from  the  bench,  and  groping  my  way  through  smoke. 
My  eyes  smarted,  perspiration  streamed  down  my  face, 
I  heard  the  bark  of  rifles,  voices  calling  within,  wild 
echoing  yells  without.  Over  the  barrel  of  my  rifle  I 
could  distinguish  the  naked  forms  of  savages  leaping 
amid  the  smoke  wreaths,  stumbling,  clutching  at  the  air 
with  empty  hands.  Then  all  at  once  they  disappeared, 
vanished  as  if  by  magic.  Smoke  clung  to  the  ground, 
yet  amid  its  swirls  I  could  perceive  no  movement ;  the 
fierce  yelling  ceased.  What  this  sudden  cessation  meant 

[218] 


The  Fight  in  the  Cabin 


I  could  not  guess,  but  my  hand  reached  instinctively  for 
powder  and  ball.  Then  another  yell,  louder,  more 
deadly  with  ferocity,  smote  my  ears ;  bullets  chugged 
into  the  logs,  someone  near  me  gave  utterance  to  a  roar 
of  pain,  and  blows  crashed  against  the  barred  door.  I 
thrust  my  rifle  forward  —  a  tomahawk  struck  the  pro- 
truding barrel  as  I  pulled  trigger,  and  I  was  flung 
backward  to  the  floor,  blood  streaming  from  my  shoul- 
der. I  could  hardly  breathe  in  the  thick  smoke ;  I  could 
see  nothing,  yet  out  of  the  babel  of  noise  I  was  conscious 
of  Brady's  voice  yelling  an  order: 

"  The  door !  barricade  the  door !  " 

I  staggered  to  my  feet  and  dragged  the  bench  for- 
ward; someone  gripped  the  table  along  with  me,  and 
together  we  hurled  it  on  top,  our  bodies  holding  it  there. 
I  had  dropped  my  rifle,  but  someone  thrust  another 
into  my  hand.  Blood  streamed  down  into  my  eyes  from 
a  cut  on  my  forehead,  blinding  me  so  I  saw  nothing,  yet 
my  fingers  touched  a  hand.  Even  then  I  felt  the  thrill 
of  that  contact. 

"  You,  Rene !  Go  back !  for  God's  sake,  go  back !  " 
I  sobbed  breathlessly. 

Just  an  instant  she  grasped  me,  clung  to  me,  her 
head  pressing  against  my  sleeve. 

"Yes,  Monsieur!" 

Then  she  was  gone ;  I  reached  out  for  her,  but  she  was 
[219] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


no  longer  there.  Tomahawks  crashed  into  the  wood  of 
the  door;  there  was  a  sound  of  splintering.  Brady 
ripped  out  an  oath,  a  wild  yell  of  triumph  echoed  with- 
out. Through  a  nearby  loop-hole  some  savage  thrust 
his  gun,  and  fired  blindly,  the  sudden  flash  lighting  the 
murk.  In  the  instant  red  glow  I  caught  a  glimpse  of 
the  interior  —  of  a  body  lying  before  the  fire-place,  of 
Schultz  still  on  his  knees,  rifle  in  hand,  of  Brady  grip- 
ping an  axe,  his  head  bare,  a  ghastly  wound  on  the  side 
of  his  face.  Then  the  smoke  hid  all. 

Something  crashed  against  the  door,  shaking  the 
whole  cabin ;  again  and  again  the  blow  fell,  the  tough 
wood  bursting  asunder,  the  stout  bar  bending,  yet  snap- 
ping back  once  more  as  the  sockets  held.  Amid  the  din 
of  shouts,  the  crash  of  wood,  my  eyes  met  Brady's. 

"You  're  hurt?" 

"  Ay ! "  spitting  out  blood  before  he  could  answer. 
"  Jaw  shot.  Where  's  the  French  girl?  " 

I  jerked  my  hand  back  in  gesture. 

"  With  her  father's  body,  I  reckon ;  she  promised  me 
to  keep  out  of  it." 

"  Good,"  his  eyes  smiling  in  spite  of  the  intense  pain 
of  his  wound.  "  This  is  like  to  be  our  last  fight,  boy. 
Do  you  hear  that?  Another  blow  as  hard,  and  those 
devils  will  be  at  us.  Do  n't  quit  until  you  die." 

"  I  know,"  and  I  reached  out  my  hand  to  him.    His 


The  Fight  in  the  Cabin 


eyes  were  cool,  grimly  smiling,  and  the  clasp  of  his 
fingers  like  a  vise. 

"  We  are  men,"  he  said  slowly.  "  Do  n't  forget,  lad. 
They  will  know  about  this  sometime  down  on  the  Ohio 
—  here  the  fiends  come !  " 

The  door  crashed  in,  the  great  butt  of  a  tree  coming 
with  it,  and  half  blocking  the  passage.  All  that  remained 
was  instantly  filled  with  savage  figures.  Into  the 
mass  of  them  I  fired  my  last  shot,  the  flame  of  discharge 
searing  the  hideous  faces.  Then  I  was  hurled  to  the 
right,  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  Schultz,  gripping  my 
gun  barrel  with  both  hands,  swinging  it  like  a  flail.  I 
crushed  the  skull  of  a  savage,  drove  the  butt  into  the 
face  of  another;  saw  the  flash  of  a  tomahawk,  held  up 
for  an  instant  the  soldier's  reeling  body,  only  to  throw 
it  aside;  smashed  the  red  hand  held  out  to  grip  him  as 
he  went  down ;  drew  back  a  step  in  search  of  more 
room,  and,  with  one  mighty  sweep  of  my  weapon  cleared 
a  circle  before  me.  God!  it  was  ghastly,  inhuman, 
devilish!  Those  behind  pushed  and  yelled;  there  was 
no  escape !  I  saw  painted  faces,  naked  shoulders ;  wild 
eyes  glared  hatred  into  mine;  tomahawk  and  knife 
flashed.  The  butt  of  my  gun  smashed,  I  gripped  the 
iron,  my  teeth  clinched,  and  blood  on  fire.  I  had  no 
sense  of  fear  left,  no  consciousness  of  peril.  I  wanted 
to  strike,  to  kill,  to  bruise  those  hideous  faces,  to  bat- 

[221  ] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


ter  them  into  pulp.     The  rage  of  conflict  seized  me; 
there  swept  over  me  the  ferocity  of  the  insane. 

I  gave  back,  compelled  by  the  mere  force  of  numbers 
hurled  against  me,  yet  kept  clear  a  space  no  savage 
left  unhurt.  I  felt  in'  my  arms  the  strength  of  a  dozen 
men,  and  not  the  grip  of  a  red  hand  reached  me.  The 
fiends  snarled  and  struggled,  but  the  fierce  swing  of 
the  iron  bar  crushed  them  back.  It  was  twilight  where 
I  stood  at  bay,  the  narrow  opening,  almost  blotted  out 
by  those  struggling  figures  striving  to  enter,  to  me, 
was  a  mere  blotch,  an  inferno  of  movement  and  sound. 
Through  a  dim,  red  haze,  where  blood  dripped  before 
my  eyes,  I  had  glimpses  of  uplifted  arms,  of  distorted 
faces,  of  glittering  weapons.  Once  there  was  a  gun 
shot,  the  sudden  flash  flaming  into  my  eyes ;  twice  toma- 
hawks, turning  in  the  air,  grazed  my  cheek;  a  knife, 
desperately  hurled  from  out  the  ruck,  struck  the  iron, 
slashing  my  arm  as  it  fell.  I  felt  no  pain,  no  weakness ; 
I  was  going  to  die,  but  it  would  not  be  alone.  I  rushed 
forward,  treading  on  bodies,  battering  at  shoulders  and 
heads.  I  heard  yells,  shrieks,  groans,  cries  of  horror 
and  agony.  The  frenzied  war-whoop  rang  in  my  ears ; 
an  order  roared  out  over  the  babel.  I  have  no  recollec- 
tion of  being  touched,  yet  some  force  hurled  me  back.  I 
stumbled  over  the  bodies,  yet  somehow  kept  my  feet.  I 
was  breathless,  weak,  reeling  upon  my  legs,  everything 


inii    FIGHT    IN    THE    CABIN. 


The  Fight  in  the  Cabin 


before  my  eyes  shrouded  in  mist.  Yet  the  instinct  to 
fight  remained ;  I  knew  nothing  else. 

Suddenly  I  became  aware  that  Brady  and  I  were 
together,  that  we  were  foot  to  foot,  his  deadly  axe  ris- 
ing and  falling  as  though  he  was  a  woodsman  in  the  for- 
est. Out  of  the  mad  din  in  my  ear  came  the  sound  of 
his  voice  in  broken,  breathless  sentences. 

"  Good  boy !  good  boy !  Ay !  that  was  a  blow.  Stand 
to  it,  lad;  they  '11  tell  of  this  fight  on  the  border.  Oh, 
you  will,  you  painted  devil  —  that  finished  you!  Do 
you  see  Red-Coat  back  there,  Hay  ward?  Ay!  I  'd  like 
one  swipe  at  him,  but  the  coward  keeps  safe.  Strike 
lower  man !  they  're  creeping  in  on  us.  That  Js  the 
kind.  Ah !  I  thought  so ;  they  're  taking  us  from  behind 
—  quick,  lad,  back  to  the  wall !  " 

I  got  there ;  God  only  knows  how  —  but  I  was  alone. 
I  felt  the  force  of  the  rush  that  struck  him  down ;  it  had 
lifted  me  bodily  and  hurled  me  against  the  logs.  Yet  I 
kept  my  feet,  kept  my  grip  on  the  twisted  iron,  and 
struck  blindly.  The  whole  cabin  seemed  jammed  with 
red  demons;  they  piled  on  me,  jerked  the  bar  from  my 
grasp.  Once,  twice,  I  sent  clenched  fist  against  painted 
faces ;  then  it  was  over  with.  I  never  saw  or  felt  the 
blow  that  floored  me;  I  went  down  into  darkness,  and 
they  trampled  me  under  foot. 

[223] 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  HELP  OF  MADEMOISELLE 

HE  sound  of  a  voice  speaking,  apparently  far  off, 
was  the  first  thing  of  which  I  was  dimly  con- 
scious. The  language  was  French,  and,  for  what 
seemed  a  long  time,  no  word  sounded  familiar.  My  mind 
was  blank  of  any  distinct  impression,  although  there 
appeared  to  float  before  me,  in  recollection  of  some 
former  existence,  the  face  of  Mademoiselle.  Her  won- 
derful eyes  were  gravely  smiling  through  a  strange 
mist  that  appeared  to  hide  all  else  in  its  circling  folds. 
I  could  not  get  away  from  their  silent  pleading,  their 
invitation.  Then  somehow  that  speaking  voice  became 
hers,  and  I  picked  out  a  word  here  and  there,  detached, 
meaningless,  and  yet  recognizable.  I  struggled  to 
arouse  myself  to  her  actual  presence. 

The  struggle  must  have  been  physical  as  well  as  men- 
tal, for  I  became  conscious  of  pain,  a  sharp  pang  shoot- 
ing through  my  body,  as  if  a  knife  had  been  twisted  in 
a  deep  wound.  The  agony  brought  me  wide  awake,  my 
eyes  open,  staring  about,  yet  scarcely  realizing  where 
dream  and  reality  met.  At  first  I  could  not  distinguish 
objects,  or  separate  sounds ;  everything  was  blurred, 
[225] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


formless.  There  was  a  red  vapor  before  my  eyes,  a 
strange  ringing  in  my  ears.  Then  I  knew  it  was  indeed 
Mademoiselle  who  spoke,  somewhere  off  there  to  my 
right,  and  once  I  heard  another  voice  —  a  falsetto,  yet 
plainly  that  of  a  man,  interrupting  her.  Between  my 
poor  understanding  of  French,  and  the  bewilderment  of 
my  brain,  I  could  make  nothing  out  of  what  was  said; 
the  very  few  words  I  caught  seemed  meaningless,  with 
no  connection  between  them.  I  struggled  hard  to  com- 
prehend, but  my  brain  made  utter  failure  of  the  at- 
tempt, a  dull  horrible  aching  across  my  temples  being 
the  only  reward. 

Yet  this  effort  served  to  arouse  my  faculties  some- 
what. There  came  to  me  a  consciousness  of  where  I  was, 
a  vague  memory  of  what  had  occurred.  I  began  to 
breathe  with  less  pain,  and  dimly  to  perceive  objects 
near  by.  I  was  wounded,  badly  wounded  probably,  and 
a  prisoner  to  the  Indians.  But  I  was  not  dead ;  this  was 
not  death  and  its  reawakening.  I  could  not  move  my 
limbs  ;  they  seemed  cramped  and  lifeless.  There  came  to 
me  in  sudden  horror  the  possibility  that  I  was  crippled, 
and  then  the  probability  that  I  was  being  held  for  tor- 
ture. Through  a  brain  half  mad  with  pain  there  flitted 
stories  of  horrible  atrocity,  of  wanton  cruelty,  of  sav- 
age vengeance  —  tales  of  the  gauntlet,  the  stake,  the 
slow  mutilation  of  helpless  victims.  And  I  was  in  the 

[226] 


The  Help  of  Mademoiselle 


hands  of  these  red  devils,  wounded,  powerless  even  to 
move.  The  thought  covered  my  body  with  perspiration ; 
I  felt  a  mad  desire  to  cry  out,  to  burst  into  tears.  Yet  I 
clinched  teeth  and  hands,  some  shred  of  remaining  man- 
hood conquering  the  weakness.  I  remembered  Schultz 
and  Brady;  what  had  become  of  them?  Out  of  the  dark 
there  floated  to  me  the  cheery  words  of  the  scout  —  ay ! 
he  spoke  them  just  before  the  rush  came  —  "  They  will 
hear  of  this  sometime  down  on  the  Ohio."  The  memory 
was  like  a  bugle  call.  Yes,  they  would  hear  of  it;  it 
would  become  one  of  the  tales  of  the  border.  They 
would  know  we  made  a  great  fight ;  that  we  stood  up  to 
it  like  men.  Ay!  and  no  lip  should  ever  tell  that  I 
whimpered  —  not  even  at  the  stake.  I  felt  the  warm 
blood  coursing  again  in  my  veins ;  I  took  a  new  grip  on 
my  nerves. 

The  voices  ceased  talking;  all  was  silent  about  me, 
but  I  could  hear  noise  without,  and  an  occasional  yell. 
Something  seemed  to  shadow  my  outlook,  and  my  grop- 
ing hands  touched  the  rough  board  of  the  bench,  under 
which  I  lay.  I  grasped  the  edge,  lifting  my  head 
slightly,  but  something  held  my  limbs  helpless.  I 
glanced  down  my  body,  dreading  what  I  should  dis- 
cover, yet  determined  now  to  face  the  truth.  Oh,  the 
relief!  Two  half-naked  bodies  lay  across  me,  dead 
warriors,  the  wide-open  eyes  of  one,  ghastly  in  the  hor- 

[227] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


ribly  painted  face,  staring  straight  into  mine.  For  an 
awful  instant  I  believed  him  alive;  then  I  saw  his  head 
had  been  crushed  in  by  a  giant  blow.  I  forced  my  eyes 
away,  but  could  see  little  —  there  were  others  lying 
beside  me,  and  yonder  the  battered  bent  rifle  barrel  I 
had  wielded  rested  against  the  bench;  the  ruin  of  the 
broken  door  was  beyond,  and  half  resting  on  it  lay  the 
motionless  form  of  Schultz.  I  could  see  the  outline  of 
his  round  face,  and  a  red  splotch  on  his  forehead.  Some- 
how out  of  all  that  horror  only  one  clear  conception 
clutched  me  —  he  had  not  been  scalped.  I  lifted  a 
hand  to  my  own  head,  finding  the  thick  hair  matted 
with  congealed  blood.  Why  were  we  spared?  What 
stern  authority,  what  plea  for  mercy  had  stayed  the 
vengeful  Indian  knives?  Was  it  the  white  man,  or  the 
influence  of  Mademoiselle?  I  sank  weakly  back  to  the 
floor,  yet  with  a  faint  throb  of  hope,  bringing  me  fresh 
courage. 

I  could  think  clearly  now,  could  grasp  the  situation, 
and  consider  my  chances.  My  brain  became  active,  in- 
tent. It  was  the  strange  fact  that  we  had  not  been 
scalped,  or  mutilated,  which  left  the  deepest  impres- 
sion. This  was  unusual  —  a  fact  that  required  expla- 
nation. The  reason  might  mean  much  to  me.  If  these 
savages,  outcasts  of  three  tribes,  were  thus  under  con- 
trol, they  might  even  spare  my  life.  Their  attack  had 

[228] 


The  Help  of  Mademoiselle 


been  desperate  and  feoocious  enough;  it  had  cost  them 
heavily.  Yet  here  I  was  untouched  and  unmangled 
since  I  fell.  There  was  apparently  not  even  a  guard 
within  the  cabin.  Of  course  they  thought  me  dead, 
but  —  the  query  remained  unanswered  —  why  were  we 
left  unscalped? 

It  surely  must  be  because  of  the  mercy  of  Red-Coat, 
or  else  the  intervention  of  the  girl.  It  was  certainly  her 
voice  I  had  heard  speaking.  I  knew  she  was  alive, 
unhurt,  exercising  influence  of  some  kind,  even  over 
these  outlaws.  What  could  be  the  nature  of  that 
influence?  Whence  did  it  come?  Never  had  I  heard 
of  such  a  thing  as  a  squaw  commanding  warriors; 
and  these  warriors  were  not  of  her  own  tribe.  Yet 
there  had  been  the  sound  of  authority  in  the  voice 
overheard.  Although  I  could  not  understand  the 
words  spoken,  the  tone  was  commanding.  It  was  the 
man  who  pleaded,  and  explained.  The  more  I  thought 
the  more  pronounced  became  the  mystery.  There  was 
something  here  beyond  my  comprehending.  If  this 
mysterious  girl  possessed  sufficient  power  to  hold  back 
these  savages  from  vengeance,  why  could  she  not 
have  gone  forth  and  prevented  attack?  What  could 
have  occurred  since  to  increase  her  authority?  She 
had  fought  with  us  in  the  defense  of  the  cabin ;  I  had 
seen  the  discharge  of  her  rifle,  and  knew  that  one  war- 

[229] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


rior,  at  least,  had  fallen  before  her  aim.  Yet  now  seem- 
ingly she  was  exercising  control  over  the  Indians.  My 
heart  throbbed  in  pain,  my  mind  grew  confused  with 
unanswerable  questions.  I  struggled  in  vain  effort  to 
release  my  limbs  from  the  burden  of  those  dead  bodies, 
but  was  too  weak  from  loss  of  blood.  The  effort  hurt 
me,  and  I  closed  my  eyes,  and  lay  still.  I  do  not  think 
I  actually  lost  consciousness,  but  seemed  rather  to  drift 
off  into  a  half  dream. 

"  Monsieur,"  the  voice  was  a  whisper  at  my  ear ;  I 
could  even  feel  her  soft  breath  on  my  cheek.  My  eyes 
instantly  opened,  and  looked  into  her  face  as  she  bent 
above  me.  "  Do  not  move,  do  not  speak  aloud  —  but 
listen,  I  knew  you  were  not  dead ;  I  found  you  first  and 
kept  them  away,  but  there  is  no  time  now  for  me  to  ex- 
plain. Are  you  badly  hurt?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell,  Mademoiselle  —  those  heavy  bodies 
will  not  let  me  move." 

She  glanced  about  swiftly,  as  if  in  fear  of  being  seen ; 
then  released  my  limbs,  dragging  the  two  dead  Indians 
aside.  I  felt  cramped,  lifeless  below  the  waist,  yet  as 
the  blood  began  to  circulate  I  knew  there  was  no  serious 
in j  ury.  She  stared  into  my  face  as  I  worked  the  numbed 
muscles,  and  her  eyes  told  me  that  she  was  frightened. 

"  We  are  alone  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  for  the  moment,"  breathlessly.  "  It  is  your 
[230] 


The  Help  of  Mademoiselle 


only  chance;  I  have  prayed  and  schemed  to  get  to  you. 
We  must  n't  lose  an  instant.  Can  you  move,  Monsieur? 
Can  you  even  crawl  a  dozen  feet  ?  " 

I  set  my  teeth,  struggling  to  turn  over  and  attain 
my  knees.  In  spite  of  every  effort  I  sank  on  my  face 
with  a  smothered  groan  of  pain.  She  lifted  my  head 
upon  her  arm. 

"  Oh,  you  must,  Monsieur,  you  must !  I  cannot  lift 
you,  you  are  too  big,  but  —  but  I  will  help.  See,  I  will 
hold  you  like  this  !  Please,  please  try  again  —  we  must 
be  quick." 

"  Where  —  where  do  you  want  me  to  go  ?  "  I  asked 
faintly,  inspired  to  effort  by  the  firm,  eager  grip  of  her 
hand.  "  Tell  me ;  I  '11  try." 

"There  —  just  to  the  left  of  the  fire-place.  It  is 
the  one  chance,  Monsieur.  They  will  be  back,  those 
fiends,  they  will  burn  the  cabin.  Mon  Dieu!  try !  try !  " 

I  got  to  my  knees  once  more,  the  plea  of  her  voice 
yielding  strength  and  determination.  At  whatever  cost 
I  would  attempt  to  please  her.  I  experienced  no  sense 
of  fear;  my  brain  seemed  dazed,  incapable  of  appre- 
hending clearly.  It  held  but  the  one  purpose  —  to 
accomplish  this  to  please  her.  She  wished  me  to  try, 
and  I  would.  With  teeth  clinched  tight,  I  fixed  my 
eyes  on  the  spot  indicated  and  started.  Terrible  was 
the  effort!  Her  voice  purred  in  my  ear,  but  I  heard 

[231  ] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


only  the  music  of  it ;  her  firm  clasp  held  me  from  falling, 
yet  every  movement  was  agony.  My  side  seemed  on  fire, 
rubbed  by  my  coarse  shirt,  and  I  had  to  drag  my  limbs 
as  if  they  were  paralyzed.  It  was  impossible  to  pro- 
ceed straight  across,  for  there  were  bodies  in  the  way ; 
one  of  them  a  huge  warrior,  still  wearing  his  war- 
bonnet  of  feathers.  Brady's  axe  had  killed  him.  Be- 
yond, almost  in  the  fireplace  lay  the  preacher,  curled 
up  in  a  ball,  his  face  hidden.  I  knew  him  by  his  long 
coat  and  light  hair.  The  sight  made  me  sick,  and  every- 
thing grew  black  before  my  eyes. 

But  I  made  it  inch  by  inch.  I  shall  never  know  how 
the  deed  was  accomplished  —  only  that  she  helped,  and 
I  fought  on.  I  had  to ;  she  asked  me ;  there  were  tears 
in  her  eyes.  No  matter  if  it  did  hurt,  if  I  was  blind,  if 
I  reeled  on  hands  and  knees  like  a  man  drunk  —  I  must 
go  there.  I  had  not  the  faintest  thought  of  why  she 
urged  me  on,  of  what  hope  animated  her.  And  when  I 
finally  gave  out,  helpless  to  advance  another  inch,  my 
face  came  down  hard  on  a  slab  of  stone  beside  the 
chimney.  She  uttered  a  low  sob  of  despair,  and  left  me 
an  instant.  I  knew  she  had  gone,  yet  could  not  lift  my 
head.  Then  water,  cool,  reviving,  dripped  on  my 
exposed  flesh,  and  I  struggled  desperately  to  sit  up. 
She  helped  me,  dropping  the  pannikin  of  water  to  the 
floor.  For  a  second  she  looked  straight  into  my  eyes. 


The  Help  of  Mademoiselle 


"I  —  I  am  so  sorry,  Monsieur,"  she  faltered.  "  But 
you  must  hold  out  —  you  must !  " 

"  Is  it  any  farther?    What  do  you  want  me  to  do?  " 

"  No,  no  —  only  you  will  need  strength ;  it  will  only 
take  a  minute  now.  See,  Monsieur." 

She  gripped  the  flat  stone  against  which  I  had  fallen, 
prying  it  with  the  broken  blade  of  an  Indian  knife  that 
lay  on  the  floor,  until  her  fingers  found  hold,  and  ended 
it  up  against  the  chimney.  A  narrow  black  opening 
was  exposed.  I  stared  down  with  lack-luster  eyes, 
startled,  but  unable  to  realize  the  purpose.  Driven  by 
fear  she  wasted  no  time  in  either  explanation  or  urging. 
Doubtless  my  face  told  its  own  story,  and  made  her 
desperate.  With  a  strength  I  had  not  supposed  her 
slender  body  possessed,  she  dragged  me  about,  until  my 
feet  dangled  helplessly  in  the  opening. 

"Now  push  yourself  down,  Monsieur!  I  say  you 
must !  It  is  not  far,  not  more  than  four  feet  —  't  is  not 
to  hurt,  no,  no.  You  will  come  easy  to  the  bottom. 
Good !  that  is  the  way.  See,  I  will  hold  tight  to  you  like 
this." 

Helped  by  her,  yet  exercising  all  my  remaining 
strength,  and  now  comprehending  her  plan,  I  sank  slow- 
ly into  the  hole,  but  so  numb  were  my  limbs,  that,  the 
instant  the  girl  released  her  grasp,  I  sank  limply  to  the 
bottom,  resting  there,  leaning  against  the  side  wall, 

[233] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


looking  eagerly  up  at  her  face  framed  above  me  in  the 
narrow  opening. 

"  You  are  safe,  Monsieur?  You  are  not  hurt?  "  she 
asked  in  trembling  anxiety. 

I  murmured  a  word  or  two,  for  I  had  exhausted  all 
my  strength.  She  must  have  accepted  this  as  reassur- 
ance, for  she  lifted  her  head,  and  glanced  swiftly  about. 
Then  she  reached  down  to  me  the  pannikin  of  water. 

"  I  cannot  wait  longer,"  she  whispered.  "  Someone 
will  come.  Here;  take  this,  Monsieur;  put  it  down 
carefully  —  ah !  that  was  fine.  Wash  out  your  wounds, 
and  the  blood  from  your  face.  It  will  be  dark,  but  fear 
nothing.  I  will  come  again  to  you  soon." 

"  Where  does  this  tunnel  lead?  "  I  asked,  as  her  hand 
grasped  the  stone  slab. 

"  To  the  cave  cellar  at  the  rear ;  where  we  first  met 
j —  but  you  must  wait  for  me  to  come,  Monsieur." 

I  saw  the  shadow  of  the  stone  descending,  shutting 
out  the  light. 

"  Just  one  question  more,  Mademoiselle,"  I  managed 
to  articulate.  "  Is  Brady  dead?  " 

I  could  dimly  perceive  the  outline  of  her  face. 

"  No,  Monsieur,  he  is  a  prisoner." 


[234] 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

WITHIN   THE  TUNNEL 

T  WAS  in  total  darkness,  not  a  ray  of  light  finding 
passage  about  the  edges  of  the  stone  slab.  It  evi- 
dently had  been  so  closely  fitted  into  place  as  to  make 
discovery  practically  impossible.  I  felt  at  first  almost 
as  if  I  had  been  buried  alive,  and  yet  the  very  knowledge 
that  Mademoiselle  had  risked  all  to  bring  me  to  this 
refuge,  brought  to  my  mind  courage  and  resolution. 
Her  quick  wit  had  found  a  way  of  escape,  and  I  must  aid 
her  to  the  best  of  my  power.  That  there  should  be  such 
a  secret  passage  was  not  surprising.  This  cabin  had 
been  erected  in  the  heart  of  a  wild  country,  and  its 
builder  had  reason  to  anticipate  its  possible  usefulness. 
Probably  the  daughter  alone  knew  of  its  existence,  and 
the  discovery  by  others  was  not  at  all  probable,  unless 
the  outer  end,  by  any  chance,  had  been  left  open  and 
unconcealed. 

I  rested  there,  staring  about  into  the  black  void,  feel- 
ing a  slight  return  of  strength,  and  rapidly  regaining 
courage.  My  mind  was  already  active  and  clear,  and 
I  stretched  out  my  legs,  encouraged  to  discover  a  better 
circulation  of  blood  —  the  strange  numbness  was  disap- 

[235] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


pearing.  My  side  continued  to  pain  me  greatly,  yet 
the  very  intenseness  of  suffering  led  me  to  feel  that  the 
wound  was  not  a  serious  one.  I  was  aware,  however, 
that  my  exertions  had  broken  it  open,  and  that  it  was 
bleeding  afresh.  I  felt  weak,  feverish,  my  hand  trem- 
bling, as  I  sought  blindly  to  explore  the  side  walls  and 
locate  the  pannikin  of  water.  I  discovered  this  at  last, 
and  lifted  it  to  my  lips,  yet  contented  myself  with  a  few 
swallows.  It  was  nectar  of  the  gods  to  my  parched 
throat,  and  brought  new  life  to  my  whole  body. 

Slowly  I  made  effort  to  explore  my  wound.  This 
was  most  painful,  as  my  rough  shirt  was  held  to  my  flesh 
by  congealed  blood,  and  had  to  be  torn  away.  I  pos- 
sessed no  knife,  but  stuck  to  the  work  manfully,  my 
teeth  clinched,  my  face  beaded  with  perspiration,  until 
I  separated  the  last  shred,  and  could  explore  the  wound 
with  my  fingers.  It  proved  deep  and  ragged  enough, 
but  had  penetrated  nothing  vital.  If  I  could  staunch 
the  flow  of  blood,  and  bind  it  up  so  as  to  prevent  its 
being  reopened,  there  should  be  no  serious  result.  I 
went  at  this  as  best  I  could  in  the  dark,  and,  by  sense 
of  touch,  groaning  at  the  pain,  I  swabbed  out  the  wound 
until  it  practically  ceased  to  bleed,  and  then  bound  it  up 
with  a  silk  neckerchief  and  a  strip  torn  from  my  shirt. 
It  was  rude  surgery,  but  effective.  Shut  out  thus  from 
the  air  the  wound  merely  dully  ached,  and  I  found  my- 

[236] 


WitJiin  the  Tunnel 


self  able  to  move  with  much  greater  freedom.  Other- 
wise I  was  surprised  to  discover  I  had  sustained  no  par- 
ticular injury.  My  cheek  had  been  grazed  by  a  bullet, 
but  the  ball  had  merely  seared  the  flesh.  I  must  have 
received  two  blows  on  the  head,  the  first  gashing  my 
temple;  the  second,  more  severe,  had  been  struck  me 
from  behind,  for  my  thick  hair  was  matted  with  blood. 
I  did  the  best  I  could  with  what  water  remained,  and, 
when  the  last  drop  had  been  used,  I  leaned  back  against 
the  wall  to  rest. 

I  felt  quite  like  myself  again,  except  that  my  head 
throbbed  horribly,  and  I  found  it  difficult  to  think. 
Not  a  sound  reached  my  ears  from  without.  Shallow 
as  the  tunnel  was,  the  cabin  floor  being  of  earth  gave 
no  echo  of  feet  —  there  might  be  a  hundred  in  the  room, 
not  four  feet  distant,  yet  no  noise  would  penetrate  to 
where  I  lay.  I  felt  the  sides  and  roof  curiously ;  small 
round  trunks  of  trees  held  back  the  earth,  and  supported 
broad  slabs,  cleaved  by  an  axe.  A  desire  to  explore  the 
passage,  to  learn  if  the  outer  extremity  was  open,  came 
to  me,  but  I  felt  weak  yet  from  loss  of  blood,  and 
strangely  dull,  my  mind  drifting  from  one  thing  to 
another,  as  if  in  a  dream.  So  the  savages  had  captured 
Brady ;  had  taken  him  alive.  Better  would  it  have  been 
for  him  to  have  died  fighting.  They  knew  him;  his 
was  a  name  used  to  frighten  the  papooses  in  the  villages 

[237] 


The  Moid  of  the  Forest 


of  the  Shawnees ;  there  would  be  no  torture  too  infernal 
for  those  demons  to  exercise,  now  they  had  him  fairly 
in  their  power.  I  remembered  how  he  looked  with  that 
ghastly  wound  in  his  jaw,  and  I  shook  like  a  frightened 
baby,  my  face  buried  in  my  hands.  For  the  first  time 
I  realized  the  miracle  of  my  own  escape,  the  desperate 
peril  of  my  present  position. 

How  had  it  chanced  that  we  were  left  lying  there 
untouched  on  the  cabin  floor  after  we  had  fallen?  To 
be  sure  Mademoiselle  had  interfered  between  us  and 
savage  vengeance;  she  had  exercised  her  power,  her 
entreaty  to  spare  us  from  indignity.  She  had  acknowl- 
edged as  much,  and  also  her  knowledge  that  I  was  not 
dead.  Yet,  surely  she  alone  could  never  have  defended 
us  against  the  ferocity  of  those  warriors  mad  with  vic- 
tory. It  must  have  been  the  unexpected  capture  of 
Brady  which  gave  her  opportunity.  Wild  with  delight 
at  having  him  in  their  power,  believing  him  the  leader, 
in  that  first  mad  moment  of  exultation  the  savages  had 
left  the  dead  untouched,  to  taunt  and  torture  the  living. 
Someone  had  recognized  the  old  borderer,  his  name  had 
been  repeated  from  lip  to  lip,  and  the  infuriated  war- 
riors had  surged  about  him  and  his  captors,  back  into 
the  open,  forgetting  all  else  in  their  eagerness  to  get 
glimpse  of  the  man  they  so  feared  and  hated.  This 
diversion  had  left  the  girl  for  the  moment  free  to  act, 

[238] 


Within  the  Tunnel 


and  her  quick  wit  had  shown  the  way.  Ay!  and  the 
white  man  had  lingered  in  watchful  suspicion;  she  was 
arguing  with  him  when  I  regained  partial  conscious- 
ness; in  some  manner  she  had  succeeded  in  getting  the 
fellow  out  of  the  cabin  long  enough  for  her  purpose. 
The  whole  affair  slowly  worked  itself  out  in  my  mind, 
and,  with  the  knowledge  of  what  had  occurred,  a  deeper 
admiration  for  this  maid  of  the  forest  took  possession 
of  me.  Foundling  of  the  woods,  Wyandot  —  I  cared  no 
longer  what  she  might  be  by  either  birth  or  blood ;  she 
was  to  me  the  one  and  only  woman. 

The  thought  came  to  me  that  I  could  not  remain  where 
I  was,  cramped  in  that  narrow  space,  staring  blindly 
into  the  dark.  I  must  exercise  my  limbs,  put  my  blood 
into  circulation,  and  by  action  of  some  kind  drive  mor- 
bid thoughts  from  the  mind.  How  still  and  black  it 
was;  how  close  the  roof  and  sides  pressed.  I  had  to 
fight  away  the  impression  that  I  was  actually  buried 
alive.  And  I  was  to  remain  there  until  she  came  to  my 
rescue.  Suppose  she  did  not  come?  that  something  oc- 
curred to  prevent  —  an  accident,  inability  to  free  her- 
self from  observation?  My  mysterious  disappearance 
was  likely  to  arouse  suspicion.  When  the  Indians  re- 
turned, and  found  my  body  gone,  what  more  natural 
than  that  they  should  connect  her  with  its  strange  van- 
ishing? If  she  failed  to  appear  what  should  I  do  ?  How 

[239] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


could  I  escape?  I  could  not  remain  long  in  this  silence 
and  darkness ;  it  would  drive  me  mad.  I  wondered  if 
I  could  lift  that  heavy  stone  from  below,  and  whether 
or  not  the  outer  end  of  the  passage  was  open.  I  en- 
deavored to  recall  the  distance  between  the  south  wall 
of  the  cabin  and  the  cave  cellar.  This  was  not  clear 
in  my  mind,  but,  as  I  figured  it  out,  the  tunnel  could  not 
be  less  than  sixty  feet  long. 

I  got  to  my  hands  and  knees,  determined  to  discover 
for  myself  the  nature  of  the  passage.  Any  form  of 
action  was  better  than  merely  to  lie  there  inert.  I  had 
to  creep  forward,  and  found  barely  room  for  the  pas- 
sage of  my  body.  My  wound  still  hurt  sufficiently  to 
make  me  cautious  of  every  movement,  and  consequently 
my  advance  was  slow.  There  never  was  blacker  dark- 
ness ;  it  was  like  a  weight  pressing  me  back,  and  the 
silence  was  like  that  of  the  grave.  I  could  hear  my  own 
breathing,  but  my  hands  and  knees  made  no  sound  on 
the  earth  floor.  Whatever  of  savage  fury  was  occurring 
above,  no  echo  found  way  to  where  I  burrowed  below. 
To  all  appearance  the  tunnel  ran  in  a  direct  line;  at 
least  I  could  discover  no  evidence  of  deviation.  If 
D'Auvray  had  constructed  it,  then  he  must  have  known 
something  of  engineering,  and  been  in  possession  of 
instruments.  The  work  could  not  have  been  done  by 
blind  digging.  Still,  it  might  have  been  originally  an 

[240] 


Within  the  Tunnel 


open  ditch,  banked  and  lined  with  timber,  and  then  cov- 
ered, and  the  earth  tamped  down. 

I  counted  the  yards  of  my  advance  with  all  the  care 
possible,  but  it  was  blind  guessing,  except  that  I  deter- 
mined the  tree  trunks  to  stand  about  a  foot  apart.  I 
crept  along  for  perhaps  ten  or  twelve  yards,  undis- 
turbed, feeling  no  change  in  the  nature  of  the  tunnel. 
I  must  have  reached  a  point  beyond  the  corner  of  the 
cabin.  The  narrowness  of  the  passage  made  progress 
difficult  to  one  of  my  size,  and  the  air  seemed  heavy  and 
foul. 

I  stopped  to  rest  a  moment,  sitting  cross-legged,  my 
head  barely  escaping  the  roof.  Suddenly  from  out  that 
intense  darkness  before  me,  came  a  peculiar  sound. 
Intensified  by  the  long  silence,  and  the  contracted  walls, 
I  could  not  tell  whether  it  was  cough  or  groan,  gruff 
exclamation  or  growl.  Perspiration  beaded  my  fore- 
head, my  hands  like  ice,  as  I  stared  ahead  listening. 
There  was  no  repetition,  no  movement.  Could  I  have 
dreamed  the  thing?  Could  it  be  delirium  from  the  fever 
of  my  wound?  No!  surely  not;  I  was  sane  enough;  my 
ears  were  not  deceived.  Something  —  man  or  animal  — 
was  certainly  there  in  the  tunnel  hiding,  crouched  in 
the  darkness,  unaware  as  yet  of  my  presence.  Then 
it  would  not  be  an  animal ;  it  must  be  a  man.  The  in- 
stinct of  any  wild  denizen  of  the  woods,  its  keen  scent, 

[241  ] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


would  have  betrayed  me  long  since.  An  animal  would 
be  seeking  me,  or  else  endeavoring  to  escape.  There 
would  be  some  sound  of  movement;  yet,  strain  my  ears 
as  I  would,  not  the  slightest  echo  reached  me.  Yet  if 
it  were  a  man  —  what  man  ?  How  did  he  come  there  ? 
The  fellow  must  be  in  hiding,  or  he  would  never  crouch 
there  so  silently  in  darkness.  The  longer  I  waited,  the 
more  I  thought,  the  deeper  grew  the  mystery.  I  could 
not  even  guess  a  solution.  Why  should  an  Indian  con- 
ceal himself  in  this  hole?  and  what  white  man  was  there 
to  do  so  ?  Schultz  and  the  preacher  were  both  dead ;  I 
had  seen  their  bodies.  Brady  was  captured  —  dead 
also  likely  by  this  time,  after  the  horrors  of  torture. 

So  impossible  did  it  all  seem,  that  I  almost  con- 
vinced myself  it  was  a  delusion ;  that  I  had  heard  noth- 
ing, that  the  odd  sound  had  originated  within  my  own 
brain.  I  argued  the  matter  out,  and  convinced  myself 
this  was  the  truth.  I  smiled  grimly  as  courage  came 
slowrly  back;  anyhow  I  would  go  on,  and  find  out.  If 
it  was  a  man,  I  had  as  good  a  chance  as  he  did ;  ay,  bet- 
ter, for  he  possessed  no  warning  of  my  presence.  Be- 
sides I  could  not  remain  where  I  was  indefinitely, 
cramped  in  that  narrow  space,  afraid  to  move  a  muscle, 
and  tortured  by  imagination.  I  would  rather  face  the 
danger  boldly  —  if  there  was  any  to  face  —  and  fight 
it  out.  I  got  upon  hands  and  knees  again,  slowly 

[242] 


Within  the  Tunnel 


and  with  utmost  caution,  aware  that  if  I  was  to  escape 
notice  I  must  advance  as  stealthily  as  a  wild  cat,  the 
slightest  sound  would  carry  far  in  that  gallery.  I 
moved  forward  a  yard,  two,  three  yards,  extending  one 
hand  out  into  the  dark  and  feeling  about  carefully,  be- 
fore venturing  another  inch.  Mine  were  the  movements 
of  a  snail. 

I  had  almost  convinced  myself  there  was  nothing 
there,  either  brute  or  human;  yet  some  instinct  con- 
tinually told  me  there  was.  I  felt  an  uncanny  presence, 
and  an  ill-defined  sense  of  danger  I  could  not  cast  off. 
I  came  to  a  pause,  actually  afraid  to  go  on,  my  flesh 
creeping  with  strange  horror.  I  rested  on  one  knee,  my 
face  thrust  forward  as  I  stared  blindly  into  the  awful 
blackness.  I  even  held  my  breath  in  suspense,  listening 
for  the  slightest  movement.  Merciful  God !  someone  — 
something  —  was  actually  there !  I  could  hear  now 
the  faint  pulsing  of  a  breath,  as  though  through  clogged 
nostrils  ;  yes,  and  a  meaningless  muttering  of  the  lips. 


[243] 


CHAPTER  XXV 

A   STRUGGLE   UNDERGROUND 

REMAINED  poised,  breathless,  huddled  in  the  dark, 
hesitating.  A  dozen  considerations  flashed  through 
my  mind,  as  I  swiftly  decided  what  to  do.  I  could 
scarcely  hope  to  move  backward  without  noise ;  nor,  if  I 
succeeded,  would  I  be  any  better  off  with  him  still  block- 
ing the  passage?  There  was  nothing  for  it  then  but  to 
come  to  hand  grips.  But  the  fellow,  whoever  he  might 
be  —  whether  white  or  Indian  —  was  doubtless  armed, 
while  I  was  weaponless.  To  get  him  right  was  a  des- 
perate chance,  yet  a  chance  which  must  be  taken.  For- 
tunately I  had  him  located,  his  heavy  breathing  being 
unmistakable,  and  evidence  also  that  the  man  remained 
unaware  of  my  presence.  I  shifted  one  foot  forward  to 
get  firmer  purchase,  and  then  grasped  for  him  through 
the  darkness.  My  hand  came  in  contact  with  a  shoulder ; 
then  gripped  a  mass  of  long  hair.  He  gave  vent  to  a 
sudden  cry,  startled,  almost  inhuman  in  its  wildness, 
struggling  backward  so  quickly  my  other  hand  closed 
on  air.  But  I  held  hard  to  what  I  had,  dragged  off  my 
balance,  feeling  his  fingers  after  my  throat.  There  was 
no  room  for  us  to  do  otherwise  than  claw  at  each  other. 

[245] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


After  that  first  cry  neither  of  us  uttered  a  sound,  but 
I  closed  in  on  him,  getting  a  stronger  grip.  He  was  a 
man,  a  white  man,  for  he  wore  a  rough  coat,  and  his  face 
was  covered  with  a  growth  of  straggly,  coarse  whiskers. 
Enemy  or  friend  I  could  not  be  sure,  nor  did  I  find 
opportunity  to  discover.  We  both  fought  like  beasts, 
resorting  to  teeth  and  nails.  He  was  seemingly  not  a 
large  man,  but  wiry  and  muscular.  His  very  lack  of 
size  was  an  advantage  in  that  narrow  space;  besides  I 
was  weakened  by  loss  of  blood,  and  with  every  move- 
ment my  wound  hurt. 

His  one  object  was  to  wrench  himself  loose,  but  my 
fortunate  grip  on  his  hair  foiled  this  effort.  Yet  both 
his  hands  were  free,  the  one  clutching  my  throat;  but, 
in  those  first  breathless  seconds,  I  could  not  locate  the 
other.  He  was  lying  on  his  side,  with  right  arm  under- 
neath. Fearful  of  a  weapon,  I  let  the  fellow  gouge  at 
my  throat  with  long,  ape-like  fingers,  while  I  struggled 
fiercely  to  expose  the  hidden  hand.  If  it  proved  empty 
I  knew  I  could  handle  the  man;  that  I  possessed  the 
strength  to  draw  him  to  me,  to  crush  him  into  subjec- 
tion within  the  vise  of  my  arms.  Straining  every  muscle 
I  could  bring  into  play,  I  succeeded  in  forcing  him 
over  onto  his  face.  But  he  was  a  cat,  wiry,  full  of  tricks. 
In  some  manner  he  twirled  his  arm  out  of  my  grip. 
There  was  a  flash  of  reddish  yellow  flame  searing  across 

[246] 


A  Struggle  Underground 


my  eyes,  an  awful  report,  like  an  explosion  in  my 
stunned  ears.  Where  the  bullet  went  I  will  never  know, 
but  I  saw  the  man's  face  leap  out  at  me  from  the  dark- 
ness—  just  an  instant  of  reflection,  as  though  thrown 
against  a  screen  by  some  flash  of  light  —  the  unmis- 
takable face  of  a  negro.  And  his  was  a  hideous  visage ; 
the  memory  of  it  lingers  with  me  yet.  Swift  as  it  ap- 
peared and  vanished  in  that  burst  of  flame,  I  shall  never 
forget  the  glare  of  the  man's  eyes,  the  malignant  snarl 
of  the  open  lips,  the  teeth  cruel  and  snag-like,  and  the 
yellowish-black  of  his  face.  It  was  as  if  I  held  some 
foul  fiend  of  hell  in  my  grip. 

Yet  startled  as  I  was  by  this  apparition,  his  view  of 
me  had  no  less  an  effect.  Even  in  that  single  instant 
of  revealment,  the  hate  in  his  eyes  changed  to  fear,  lo 
uncontrollable  panic;  his  lips  gave  vent  to  a  wild  cry, 
an  exclamation  in  mongrel  .French,  and,  before  I  could 
stiffen  in  resistance,  or  recover  from  my  own  shock,  the 
fellow  flung  his  pistol  at  me,  and  jerked  free.  The 
flying  weapon  tore  a  gash  in  my  scalp,  but  his  haste 
and  fear  proved  his  own  undoing.  Half  stunned  as  I 
was  by  the  blow,  I  heard  him  spring  to  his  feet,  the  dull 
crash  of  his  head  as  he  struck  the  hardwood  slab  of 
the  low  roof,  and  then  the  thud  of  a  body  on  the  tunnel 
floor.  In  his  haste,  his  desperation,  his  strange  fright, 
he  had  forgotten  where  he  was,  and  attempted  to  spring 

[247] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


erect.  My  head  reeled,  the  blood  from  this  new  cut 
trickling  down  my  cheek.  The  negro  lay  motionless  in 
the  darkness ;  I  could  not  even  distinguish  his  breathing, 
although  I  hesitated,  listening  intently,  half  fearing 
some  trick. 

What  had  frightened  the  fellow  so?  What  had 
brought  that  look  of  insane  terror  into  his  eyes  ?  It  was 
as  if  he  stared  at  a  ghost,  the  very  sight  of  which  had 
crazed  him.  I  mastered  by  own  nerves,  and  crept  for- 
ward along  the  passage,  feeling  blindly  in  advance  with 
one  outstretched  hand,  until  it  came  in  contact  with  the 
man's  figure.  He  lay  full  length  on  the  tunnel  floor, 
and  I  had  to  find  my  way  over  him  to  reach  his  head. 
It  was  difficult  to  touch  him,  to  place  my  fingers  against 
his  flesh.  The  memory  of  those  snarling,  wolfish  lips, 
and  that  yellow  skin,  caused  me  to  shrink  from  direct 
contact.  Yet  I  must  assure  myself.  I  could  not  leave 
the  man  lying  there,  possibly  to  recover  consciousness 
and  do  injury.  Of  one  thing  I  was  assured  —  this 
French  negro  could  be  no  friend.  Whatever  had  caused 
him  to  skulk  in  this  hole  of  the  earth  —  even  if  it  was 
fear  of  those  savages  above  us  in  the  cabin,  promised 
no  help  to  me.  He  would  prove  as  merciless  and  cruel, 
if  given  power,  as  any  Indian ;  his  very  fear  of  me 
would  yield  him  the  savagery  of  a  wild  beast. 

With  clinched  teeth,  I  touched  the  coarse  hair  with  my 
[248] 


fingers;  then  the  forehead.  The  flesh  retained  some 
warmth ;  jet  the  feeling  was  not  natural  —  it  seemed 
lifeless.  For  the  instant  this  appeared  impossible.  Why, 
he  did  it  himself;  he  crashed  his  own  skull  against  the 
slab.  Yet  I  could  not  make  the  affair  seem  real,  or 
probable.  And  a  negro !  I  had  seen  few  of  the  race, 
but  had  always  been  told  they  were  of  thick  skull ;  but 
if  this  man  was  actually  dead,  his  head  must  have  been 
smashed  like  an  egg-shell.  And  it  was  —  I  found  the 
gash  a  moment  later,  the  jagged  edge  of  bone.  The 
fellow  was  dead,  stone  dead;  there  was  no  beat  to  his 
heart,  no  throb  to  his  pulse.  Still  dazed  by  the  dis- 
covery, I  ran  my  fingers  along  the  roof  overhead,  hoping 
to  find  something  there  which  would  account  for  the 
mystery.  No  flat  surface  could  ever  have  jabbed  that 
wound.  Ah !  I  felt  it  —  the  sharp  point  of  a  stake  pro- 
truding between  the  logs.  The  poor  fellow  had  struck 
that  with  sufficient  force  to  penetrate  the  brain. 

I  conquered  my  abhorrence,  and  searched  him,  finding 
tobacco,  a  knife  —  an  ugly  weapon  —  flint  and  steel,  a 
few  coins,  and  some  powder  and  rifle  balls.  There  were 
no  pistol  bullets,  and  the  thought  occurred  to  me  that 
that  smaller  weapon  probably  did  not  belong  to  him ;  he 
had  appropriated  it  elsewhere.  I  crept  about,  and 
across  the  body,  searching  for  it  in  vain,  but  I  found 
the  rifle,  and  took  time  to  test  its  flint,  and  load  it. 

[249] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


I  was  still  engaged  at  this  task,  blindly  feeling  about 
in  the  dark  for  everything  needed,  and  always  con- 
scious of  that  dead  body  beside  me,  when  I  suddenly 
detected  smoke  —  not  the  puff  of  powder  which  still 
clung  to  the  passage,  but  the  acrid,  pungent  odor  of 
burning  wood.  Even  as  I  began  to  breathe  the  fumes 
they  increased  in  intensity,  the  narrow  tunnel  filling 
rapidly  with  the  smoke  waves,  and  setting  me  to  cough- 
ing. I  realized  at  once  what  had  happened.  Mad- 
emoiselle's words  of  warning  coming  back  to  mind  — 
they  were  burning  the  cabin,  and  through  some  orifice 
the  smoke  was  being  swept  down  into  this  underground 
passage.  If  there  were  no  outlet,  no  way  by  which  it 
could  escape  again  to  the  open  air,  I  must  die  there  in 
that  black  hole,  choked  and  suffocated.  I  might  lie 
there  forever  beside  this  hideous  negro;  lie  there  until 
our  bones  rotted,  and  we  also  became  earth.  The  horror 
of  the  thought  brought  me  to  my  knees.  Already  the 
air  was  stifling,  my  lungs  laboring  heavily  for  breath 
as  the  smoke  clouds  filled  the  passage.  Only  as  I  bent 
my  nostrils  close  against  the  earthern  floor  could  I  find 
life-giving  air. 

Even  in  my  terror  I  clung  to  the  negro's  rifle  des- 
perately. The  entrance  leading  forth  into  the  cave- 
cellar  must  be  closed,  or  the  smoke  cloud  would  never 
be  so  dense  and  suffocating.  To  open  it  might  require 

[250] 


A  Struggle  Underground 


strength,  the  blows  of  the  gun  stock.  If  I  retained 
power  to  burst  my  way  through  I  must  hurry.  Already 
I  felt  my  head  reel  dizzily,  my  open  lips  gulping  for  air. 
I  crept  forward  recklessly  in  the  dark,  bruising  my  body 
against  the  sides  of  the  tunnel,  actually  feeling  the  thick- 
ening smoke  swirl  about  me  in  dense  clouds.  I  gasped 
for  breath,  and  drew  a  bit  of  cloth  about  nose  and 
mouth  in  slight  protection.  I  was  panic-stricken,  over- 
come by  sudden  horror,  yet  some  nature  within  com- 
pelled me  to  struggle  on.  Suddenly  I  came  to  a  body 
lying  lengthwise  of  the  passage,  the  head  to  the  south. 
This  new  discovery  was  a  shock,  yet  seemed  to  affect 
me  little.  I  was  too  intent  on  my  own  escape  to  be 
halted  by  a  dead  man ;  to  even  think  what  it  meant,  or 
how  the  fellow  came  to  be  there.  To  me,  at  that  instant, 
he  was  but  an  obstacle,  blocking  my  progress. 

I  crawled  over  him,  as  though  he  was  no  more  than 
a  stone  in  the  path,  yet  as  one  hand  came  down  in  the 
dark  on  the  upturned  face,  I  experienced  a  sudden  thrill 
—  the  flesh  was  warm,  the  man  lived.  Barely  had  my 
numbed  mind  grasped  this  helplessly,  when  my  rifle 
barrel,  thrust  before  me,  struck  the  end  of  the  passage, 
the  faint  sound  of  contact  signifying  wood.  Not  three 
feet  extended  between  the  man's  head  and  this  barrier 
which  blocked  us  from  the  outside  air.  Desperate,  half 
crazed  indeed,  not  only  by  my  own  situation,  but  also 

[251] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


by  my  memory  of  those  bodies  behind  in  the  dark  tun- 
nel, I  found  scant  knee-room  in  the  small  space,  and 
fumbled  madly  about  for  some  latch.  The  surface  was 
of  wood,  roughly  faced,  but  smooth,  save  for  what 
might  be  a  handle  in  the  middle,  a  mere  strip,  bevelled 
to  give  finger-hold.  I  pulled  at  this  in  vain ;  then  pushed 
with  my  shoulder  against  the  oak,  but  the  wood  held 
firm.  Weak  as  I  was,  and  in  so  cramped  a  position,  I 
could  bring  to  bear  but  small  strength.  To  batter  the 
door  down  was  the  only  hope  left ;  no  matter  what  noise 
resulted,  or  the  possibility  of  capture  by  the  savages, 
I  could  not  lie  there  and  choke  to  death  in  that  place  of 
horror.  Better  any  danger  than  such  a  fate.  I  drew 
back  and  struck,  the  power  of  fear  giving  strength  to 
my  arms.  Again  and  again  I  drove  the  iron-bound  rifle 
stock  against  the  hard  oak.  I  left  the  center  and  at- 
tacked the  sides,  feeling  the  wood  give  slightly.  Encour- 
aged by  this  I  redoubled  my  efforts,  centralizing  my 
blows  on  one  spot,  until  certain  the  tightly  jammed  door 
was  being  driven  from  the  groove.  It  was  hot  and  sti- 
fling; the  perspiration  streamed  from  me;  the  smoke  was 
suffocating,  deadly.  I  gasped  and  choked,  my  head 
swam  with  dizziness.  I  felt  my  strength  ebbing  away; 
despair  clutched  me.  Yet  I  struck  —  no  longer  with 
clear  intent,  but  automatically,  driving  the  heavy  gun 
butt  against  the  slowly  yielding  wood,  with  every  pound 


A  Struggle  Underground 


of  strength  I  had  left.  It  seemed  as  if  I  had  struck  my 
last  blow  —  I  believe  now  I  had ;  I  believe  my  body  fell 
with  it  —  I  cannot  remember  clearly  —  only  I  know  the 
wood  gave  way,  and  I  fell  forward  into  light  and  air, 
my  face  without,  my  body  still  in  the  tunnel. 

Merciful  Mother !  how  I  gulped  in  those  first  refresh- 
ing breaths;  how  the  clogged  lungs  rejoiced.  It  seemed 
as  if  I  could  never  get  enough.  I  could  hardly  detect 
objects,  although  I  lifted  my  head,  and  sought  to  gaze 
about,  for  my  eyes  were  blinded  by  so  suddenly  emerg- 
ing into  the  bright  light  after  those  hours  of  darkness. 
Clouds  of  smoke  swept  over  me,  and  poured  out  through 
the  open  door  of  the  cellar.  As  strength  and  purpose 
came  back  I  sat  up,  and  began  to  perceive  my  sur- 
roundings. A  glimpse  of  blue  sky,  and,  sounding  far 
away,  a  medley  of  discordant  cries  came  thread-like 
to  my  ears.  These  served'  to  restore  my  wandering 
senses.  The  Indians  were  still  on  the  island;  some 
might  be  close  enough  at  hand  to  observe  that  column 
of  smoke  pouring  forth  from  the  cellar  door,  and  won- 
der how  it  came  there.  Yet  there  was  nothing  I  could 
do  but  remain  hidden;  to  venture  into  the  open  would 
only  expose  me  to  greater  danger.  I  glanced  back  into 
the  tunnel,  suddenly  remembering  the  man  who  still 
lived.  If  he  were  out,  the  door  might  be  forced  back 
into  place  again,  that  volume  of  smoke  suppressed. 

[253] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


I  refastened  the  cloth  across  my  face,  and  crept  back 
into  the  tunnel  until  I  was  able  to  grip  the  fellow's  arms. 
He  was  a  large  man,  clothed  as  a  white ;  I  even  thought 
I  felt  braid  on  his  sleeves ;  and,  as  I  drew  him  toward 
me  by  a  mighty  effort,  the  light  streaming  in  revealed 
a  red  jacket. 


[254] 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

I   MEET   MY   DOUBLE 

probability  that  the  man  was  a  British  officer, 
whose  life  depended  on  my  exertions,  nerved  me 
anew.  No  matter  who  he  might  prove  to  be,  whether 
friend  or  foe,  he  was  of  my  race  and  blood,  and  evidently 
the  victim  of  treacherous  attack.  First  of  all  I  must 
get  him  out  of  that  stifling  hole  into  pure  air,  and  dis- 
cover the  nature  of  his  injuries.  It  was  no  easy  task 
dragging  the  heavy  body  through  the  narrow  entrance, 
and  across  the  dislodged  door.  It  had  to  be  accom- 
plished by  sheer  strength  of  arm,  for  I  worked  on  my 
knees,  choked  by  the  foul  atmosphere,  almost  blinded 
by  the  smoke,  and  unable  to  find  purchase.  Yet  foot 
by  foot  I  won,  until,  exhausted  by  the  effort,  I  hauled 
the  limp  form  free  of  the  barrier,  and  against  the  side 
wall  of  the  cellar. 

For  an  instant  I  was  breathless,  again  conscious  of 
the  pain  from  my  wound,  yet  the  insistent  need  of  im- 
mediate action  spurred  me  to  final  effort.  I  could  think 
and  rest  later;  with  necessary  work  accomplished  I 
could  nurse  my  wounds  and  his  also.  But  first  this  out- 
pouring of  smoke  must  be  stopped;  the  cellar  itself 

[255] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


was  full  of  stifling  odor  in  the  fumes  of  which  I  gasped 
and  choked,  while  out  through  the  entrance  the  clouds 
poured  upward  into  the  blue  sky,  a  signal  to  any  watch- 
ful Indian  eye.  I  could  stand  erect  now,  and  move  at 
ease ;  the  unconscious  soldier  lay  motionless,  his  face 
shadowed  toward  the  wall.  Obscured  as  he  was  by 
swirls  of  smoke  I  could  faintly  distinguish  the  rise  and 
fall  of  his  chest,  as  his  lungs  struggled  for  air.  He 
was  alive,  and  I  observed  no  outward  sign  of  wound, 
but  I  had  no  present  cause  to  either  fear  or  guard  the 
man.  My  one  task  now  was  to  seal  the  tunnel.  This 
was  not  difficult.  The  small  oaken  door,  unbroken, 
fitted  snugly  into  the  aperture,  and  was  driven  back 
into  place  by  the  iron-bound  rifle  butt.  The  outer  wood 
had  been  stained  so  closely  of  a  color  with  the  tint  of  the 
surrounding  earth,  as  to  be  scarcely  detected  in  that 
dim  light,  by  any  casual  search.  But  for  splinters 
broken  along  the  edge  by  my  rifle  stock,  my  own  eyes, 
smarting  from  the  smoke,  could  not  have  determined  its 
presence. 

I  leaned  against  the  side-wall  as  the  waves  of  smoke 
thinned,  and  drifted  out  through  the  open  door.  At 
last  there  was  but  a  thin  vapor  showing  against  the 
blue  expanse  of  sky.  It  occurred  to  me  the  blue  was 
shading  into  gray,  as  if  with  approaching  twilight.  I 
retained  no  sense  of  time;  so  much  had  occurred  I  felt 

[256] 


1  Meet  My  Double 


I  had  been  confined  for  hours  in  that  tunnel;  when  I 
first  emerged  and  perceived  light  I  could  scarcely  realize 
that  it  was  yet  day ;  that  all  had  occurred  —  the  fight 
in  the  cabin,  my  rescue,  the  horrors  of  the  tunnel  — 
within  so  short  a  space.  There  suddenly  swept  over  me 
the  fresh  memory  of  it  all;  I  saw  the  faces,  heard  the 
voices.  And  they  were  dead,  those  men  I  had  com- 
panioned with;  they  had  gone  the  long  journey,  some 
quickly,  mercifully,  and  Brady  in  the  agony  of  tor- 
ture. How  it  nauseated  me !  the  swift  reaction  leaving 
me  sobbing  like  a  child,  my  hands  pressed  over  my  eyes. 
All  at  once  I  experienced  the  full  horror,  and  broke 
down  as  weak  as  a  babe.  I  remember  now  how  my  knees 
shook,  so  that  I  sank  down  to  the  earth  floor ;  ay !  and 
how  I  prayed,  my  voice  a  mere  senseless  murmur,  yet, 
no  doubt,  clear  enough  to  God's  ears. 

Anyway  this  must  have  brought  me  courage,  for  I 
lifted  my  head  again,  and  looked  about,  my  mind  once 
more  active,  that  dreadful  panic  of  fear  gone.  The 
taint  of  burning  wood  still  clung  to  the  atmosphere,  but 
the  smoke  had  entirely  vanished.  It  was  dull  and  gloomy 
in  the  cellar,  which  might  have  measured  ten  feet  each 
way,  the  light  finding  entrance  only  through  the  one 
narrow  opening,  leaving  the  side-walls  in  shadow.  These 
were  of  solid  earth,  supporting  tree  trunks,  thatched 
with  bark,  and  overlaid  with  loose  dirt.  The  entrance 

[257] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


led  upward,  having  two  puncheon  steps.  Obeying  my 
first  impulse,  a  desire  to  discover  what  was  occurring 
without  before  night  closed  down,  I  crept  across,  still 
clinging  to  the  rifle,  and  cautiously  thrust  my  head  up 
through  the  opening.  The  smoke  from  the  fallen  side- 
walls  of  the  dismantled  cabin  blotted  out  the  view  to 
the  east,  but  in  the  other  direction  all  was  clearly  re- 
vealed as  far  as  the  edge  of  the  woods.  The  clearing 
was  deserted ;  no  figure,  living  or  dead,  appearing  within 
range  of  vision.  I  could  see  where  the  Indians  had 
charged  across  the  open  space,  but  the  bodies  of  the 
fallen  warriors  had  been  removed.  The  rays  of  the  sun, 
now  well  down  in  the  west,  penetrated  the  outer  fringe 
of  the  forest,  giving  me  glimpse  into  its  depths,  but  re- 
vealed no  movement.  I  searched  every  inch,  shading 
my  eyes,  but  could  perceive  no  sign  of  Indians.  I  crept 
up  farther,  to  where  I  could  peer  across  the  mound  of 
earth,  but  saw  nothing.  It  was  apparent  the  savages 
had  departed;  had  fired  the  cabin,  and  crossed  over  to 
the  main  shore.  And  the  hut  was  gone,  only  some  re- 
maining logs  blazed  with  fitful  flames,  fanned  by  the 
wind. 

What  was  I  to  do  ?  What  could  I  do  ?  Mademoiselle 
had  bade  me  wait  —  wait  until  she  came.  But  what 
might  have  occurred  to  her  since  then?  Even  if  free 
from  all  suspicion  how  could  she  escape  the  observation 

[  258  ] 


/  Meet  My  Double 


of  those  savages,  and  return  here?  They  might  be  miles 
away  by  now,  hidden  in  forest  depths,  compelling  her  to 
travel  with  them.  Some  among  the  band  would  have 
missed  me,  and  might  have  accused  her  of  aiding  my 
escape.  Red-Coat  knew,  or  would  be  likely  to  suspect. 
I  was  lying  there  apparently  dead,  when  he  left  her  alone 
in  the  cabin ;  when  he  returned  my  body  was  gone.  What 
would  he  do  to  the  girl?  denounce  her  to  his  savage 
allies?  hand  her  over  to  their  fury?  Would  the  white 
renegade  dare  do  this  ?  I  had  no  means  of  knowing  the 
risk  she  had  assumed.  Did  she  know  this  man?  did 
he  know  her?  Was  it  possible  she  possessed  an  authority 
over  these  outlaws  of  three  tribes  that  he  dare  not 
question  or  oppose?  Such  a  supposition  seemed  hardly 
possible ;  they  were  not  her  people  —  there  was  not  n 
Wyandot  among  them,  and  if  she  was  unable  to  save 
poor  Brady  from  the  stake,  she  would  be  fortunate 
indeed  if  she  escaped  unscathed. 

I  felt  tempted  to  get  outside,  and  discover  where  the 
raiders  had  gone;  their  trail  might  reveal  much,  if  it 
could  only  be  found  before  night  came.  I  had  straight- 
ened up,  determined  to  try  the  venture,  when  a  move- 
ment below,  and  the  muffled  sound  of  a  voice  speaking 
English,  reminded  me  of  the  soldier.  Descending  from 
out  the  sun-light  I  could  perceive  little  in  the  darker 
cave-cellar.  The  red  jacket  was,  however,  sufficiently 

[259] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


conspicuous  to  convince  me  that  the  man  was  sitting  up, 
liis  back  against  the  wall. 

"  I  do  n't  know  who  you  are,  friend,"  he  called  out 
heartily,  "  only  you  look  to  be  white.  By  any  luck  do 
you  speak  English?  " 

"  Not  much  of  anything  else,"  I  answered,  endeavor- 
ing to  discover  his  features.  "  I  'm  of  the  blood." 

"  Ay !  with  a  colonial  twang  to  it,  unless  my  ears  lie. 
Is  that  the  story  ?  So !  then  what  in  God's  name  are 
you  doing  here?" 

I  could  not  take  the  measure  of  the  fellow,  his  face 
remaining  indistinct  in  the  shadows,  but  there  was  a 
reckless  ring  of  good-fellowship  in  his  voice  which 
Inspired  me  to  frankness. 

"  I  came  this  way  with  a  message  for  the  Wyandots. 
I  belong  to  the  garrison  of  Fort  Harmar." 

"An  officer?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Holy  Smoke,  man,  but  you  certainly  stumbled  into 
a  hornet's  nest.  Did  n't  you  know  all  the  northwest 
tribes  have  declared  war?  that  it  has  actually  begun?  " 

"  No ;  it  was  in  the  hope  of  preventing  such  a  catas- 
trophe that  I  was  sent.  Word  was  brought  us  that  the 
Wyandots  would  not  join  the  confederation." 

"  Who  brought  such  word  ?  " 

"  Simon  Girty.    He  bore  a  letter  from  Hamilton, 
[260] 


/  Meet  My  Double 


sought  information  regarding  the  disappearance  of  a 
Wyandot  chief." 

"Wa-pa-tee-tah?" 

"  That  was  the  name." 

The  man  laughed,  but  the  sound  was  not  altogether 
pleasant. 

"  There  is  a  touch  of  humor  to  your  tale,  my  friend," 
he  said  slowly,  "  although  I  doubt  if  you  will  be  able 
to  perceive  it.  Girty  and  Hamilton  may  have  had  rea- 
sons of  their  own  for  a  bit  of  byplay ;  egad !  they  failed 
to  consult  me.  But  as  for  this  Wa-pa-tee-tah,  that 
chanced  to  be  my  business,  although  just  now,  and  in 
the  presence  of  the  enemy,  we  will  let  the  discussion  go. 
Diplomacy  never  reveals  its  cards,  and  I  have  become 
more  diplomat  than  soldier.  What  am  I  then  —  a 
prisoner?  " 

I  saw  him  now  clearly,  and  he  must  have  got  his  first 
fair  glimpse  of  me,  for  he  stared  at  my  face  in  startled 
surprise  that,  for  the  moment,  held  him  dumb.  It  was- 
like  looking  at  my  own  reflection  in  a  glass  —  the  eyes, 
the  hair,  the  nose,  the  contour  of  the  face,  the  massive 
figure,  all  alike  the  counterpart  of  my  own.  I  would 
not  have  believed,  except  for  the  witness  of  my  own  eyes, 
that  such  similarity  was  possible.  Even  though  forti- 
fied with  sudden  impression  that  this  was  the  man 
for  whom  Mademoiselle  had  mistaken  me,  the  actual 
[261] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


resemblance  was  so  startling,  as  to  leave  me  voiceless. 
We  would  have  passed  for  each  other  anywhere,  and 
yet  as  I  stared  at  him,  meeting  his  eyes  fairly,  I  per- 
ceived a  difference,  faint,  elusive,  yet  noticeable  enough 
—  his  skin  showed  marks  of  dissipation ;  there  was  a 
peculiar  insolent  sneer  to  his  mouth,  and  he  must  be 
older  than  I  by  five  years.  My  mind  seemed  to  grip  all 
this  in  a  flash,  before  his  voice  broke  the  silence. 

"  Odds  life,  man !  and  what 's  this ! "  he  roared. 
"  Some  play  acting,  or  a  dream?  Never  before  did  I 
know  I  was  born  a  twin.  Who  are  you  ?  " 

The  look  on  his  face,  as  if  he  half  suspected  he  saw 
a  ghost,  made  me  smile. 

"  My  name  is  Hayward  —  Joseph  Hayward." 

He  gasped  for  breath,  his  eyes  fairly  protruding, 
as  he  staggered  to  his  feet. 

"  What !  say  that  again !  " 

I  had  full  control  of  myself  now,  rather  enjoying  his 
consternation. 

"  I  am  Joseph  Hayward,"  I  answered  with  grave 
deliberation.  "  An  ensign  in  the  United  States  army, 
and  a  native  of  Maryland." 

"  Well,  I  '11  be  hanged !  Say ;  do  you  know  that 's 
my  name  also?  Is  this  some  shabby  joke?  " 

There  was  a  gleam  of  anger  in  his  eyes,  a  threat. 
I  leaned  on  my  rifle,  and  looked  him  in  the  face. 

[262  ] 


"  I  was  better  prepared  for  this  meeting  than  you," 
I  said,  "  for  I  happen  to  know  who  you  are.  It 's  an 
odd  thing,  our  resemblance,  and  the  similarity  of  names, 
but  I  was  told  about  you  some  time  ago." 

"  By  whom?  " 

"  Mademoiselle  D'Auvray." 

"  Who  ?  I  never  met  —  oh,  her !  "  with  a  quick 
laugh,  "you  mean  the  Wyandot  missionary?" 

"  I  mean  the  daughter  of  Captain  D'Auvray,"  I  re- 
turned with  some  sternness.  "  The  man  the  Indians 
call  *  Wa-pa-tee-tah.'  She  mistook  me  for  you." 

"  And  was  not  very  nice  about  it  I  imagine  —  the 
little  vixen  will  scarce  give  me  a  word." 

"  Possibly  with  reason." 

"  She  told  you  so?  She  might  be  in  better  business 
than  advertising  my  deliquencies  among  enemies.  The 
girl  has  just  enough  white  blood  in  her  to  make  her 
act  the  fool." 

"  We  may  differ  about  that.  Anyhow  I  advise  you 
to  hold  your  tongue.  What  I  am  interested  in  learning 
now  is  —  who  killed  her  father  ?  " 

He  started  back,  bracing  himself  against  the  wall. 

"  Her  father!  D'Auvray?  is  he  dead  then?  " 

He  was  not  acting;  the  surprise  was  real;  the  ex- 
pression of  his  eyes  convinced  me. 

"  You  had  no  connection  with  the  murder?  " 
[263] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  I !  Good  Lord,  no !  I  know  nothing,  man  —  not 
even  how  I  came  to  be  here.  I  woke  up  just  now,  lying 
in  this  corner  with  my  face  to  the  wall,  every  bone  in 
my  body  aching.  When  I  finally  managed  to  roll  over, 
I  got  glimpse  of  you  there  at  the  entrance,  and  sang 
out.  I  do  n't  even  feel  certain  who  I  am,  let  alone  what 
I  may  have  been  up  to." 

"  But  surely  you  recall  something,"  I  insisted. 

"Well,"  puzzled,  "not  much.  See  here,  I'm  willing 
enough  to  tell  you  all  I  know.  Let 's  sit  down ;  my  head 
spins  around  like  a  top." 


[264] 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

I   HOLD   A   PRISONER 

T  T  E  dropped  back  against  the  wall,  but  much  of  my 
old  strength  had  returned,  and  I  remained  stand- 
ing, leaning  on  my  rifle.  The  man  continued  to  stare 
up  at  me  as  if  half  doubting  his  own  eyesight 

"  Well,"  I  said  at  last,  growing  tired  of  his  silence. 
"  You  have  my  story  —  or,  at  least,  a  good  part  of  it 
—  and  now  it  would  seem  the  proper  time  for  me  to 
hear  yours.  Once  we  understand  each  other  we  will 
know  better  how  to  proceed." 

"  That  may  be  so,  and  it  may  not  —  but  I  can't  so 
easily  get  over  the  resemblance  —  it 's  uncanny.  From 
Maryland,  you  say?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Of  good  English  stock  I  warrant.  It  seems  to  me 
I  've  heard  of  a  branch  of  our  line  who  emigrated  to 
the  colonies.  Well,  it 's  odd  how  a  certain  type  will 
survive,  skip  generations,  and  then  reappear.  You  and 
I  will  be  cousins  likely,  though  in  faith  we  have  more 
the  appearance  of  twins." 

"  Which  may  be  interesting  enough,"  I  said  so- 
berly, "  if  we  possessed  all  the  time  in  the  world  to  dis- 

[265] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


cuss  the  matter.  But  it  strikes  me  our  possible  rela- 
tionship can  wait  a  more  convenient  season.  I  '11  tell 
you  a  thing  or  two  that  may  hurry  your  mind  a  bit. 
The  cabin  above  has  been  burned  by  Indians,  who  have 
left  the  island,  but  as  to  this  I  am  not  sure.  They  may 
know  of  my  escape,  and  return  again  in  search ;  I  got 
away  through  the  tunnel  leading  from  the  fireplace  of 
the  cabin  to  this  cellar.  You  knew  of  the  existence  of 
that  passage?  " 

"  No ;  I  was  never  here  but  once  before." 
'  Yet  that  was  where  I  found  you,  unconscious,  ap- 
parently  dead;   I   dragged   you   out,    after   battering 
down  the  door  there.      The   smoke   from  the  burning 
cabin  would  have  suffocated  you  in  five  minutes  more.'' 

He  pressed  his  hands  against  his  head  in  an  endeavor 
to  think. 

"  I  was  in  there,  unconscious  and  alone?  " 

"  No,  not  alone ;  there  was  a  yellow-faced  negro  with 
you  —  a  French  mongrel,  if  I  know  the  breed.  He  's 
there  yet  —  dead ;  and  I  want  to  know  the  story." 

"  Oh,  ay !  I  begin  to  get  the  straight  of  this  at  last," 
and  his  face  brightened.  "  Not  that  it  is  altogether 
clear,  but  you  furnish  a  clue;  perhaps  if  we  put  the 
ends  together  we  may  make  a  tale.  A  French  negro, 
hey !  'T  would  likely  be  the  Kaskaskia  half-breed,  a 
treacherous  whiskered  dog.  But  how  ever  did  he  come 

[  266  ] 


I  Hold  a  Prisoner 


to  be  here?  Ay!  I  have  it!  The  fellow  must  have 
trailed  me  from  the  council  at  Sandusky,  suspecting  I 
sought  D'Auvray;  there  was  hate  between  them." 

"  Then  't  is  likely  he  killed  the  man." 

"  No  doubt  of  it,  if  he  really  be  killed.  Listen  to 
what  I  know ;  in  truth  it  is  not  much  other  than  rumor ; 
D'Auvray  had  the  fellow  lashed  by  Wyandot  squaws 
for  some  dirty  trick,  and  Picaud  —  that 's  his  name  — 
swore  vengeance.  Saint  Denis !  that  was  a  year  ago, 
and  Picaud  has  ever  since  been  in  his  own  country. 
*T  was  the  coming  of  war  that  brought  him  back.  I 
thought  I  saw  him  at  Sandusky  as  we  held  council  there, 
but  his  presence  was  nothing  to  me." 

"  He  had  no  quarrel  with  you  then  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  saw  him  whipped ;  he  was  like  a  snarling  cur. 
Listen,  and  I  '11  tell  all  I  know.  I  am  not  proud  of  my 
job,  understand,  but  out  here  in  the  wilderness,  we  work 
under  a  double  set  of  orders  —  one  open  and  above- 
board,  the  other  secret.  'T  is  poor  work  for  a  soldier, 
but  there  's  no  help  for  it,  except  to  resign,  and  then 
someone  else  would  turn  the  trick.  You  know  the  game 
we  play  —  our  countries  at  peace,  this  land  formally 
surrendered  to  you  Americans,  and  yet  there  comes  to 
us  —  to  Hamilton  —  private  instructions  to  retard  set- 
tlement, and  retain  our  military  posts.  Lord  knows 
what  the  ministry  means,  what  they  hope  to  gain  by  de- 

[267] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


lay;  we  are  only  pawns  in  the  game  being  played,  yet 
what  England  says,  we  do.  Yet  how?  There  is  only 
one  weapon  left  to  our  hands  —  the  savages.  •  We  can- 
not fight  you  openly,  much  as  we  might  prefer,  but  if  we 
can  keep  the  Indian  Bribes  hostile,  we  can  hold  back 
your  settlements  to  the  Ohio,  until  England  can  act 
openly.  You  knew  all  this  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  acknowledged  soberly.  "  The  policy  is 
clear  enough." 

"  And  it  was  easily  enough  carried  out,"  he  went  on, 
"  but  for  the  Wyandots.  We  were  hand  in  glove  with 
the  tribes,  and  they  hated  the  Americans.  Our  emis- 
saries were  in  all  their  villages,  and  made  the  chiefs 
presents  and  promises.  Raiding  parties  of  young  war- 
riors swept  through  the  forests  clear  to  the  Ohio,  doing 
much  damage,  and  driving  the  whites  to  their  forts. 
But  we  needed  open  war,  the  alliance  of  all  the  tribes, 
and  we  were  blocked  in  this  —  the  Wyandots  refused. 
I  was  sent  there,  and  when  I  failed,  Hamilton  went  him- 
self, but  with  no  better  success.  You  know  the 
reason?  " 

I  shook  my  head,  afraid  to  interrupt  for  fear  he 
might  remember  how  convicting  such  a  confession  was, 
and  refuse  to  continue.  But  apparently  the  man  failed 
to  conceive  the  depravity  of  his  acts. 

"  The  influence  of  D'Auvray  —  ay !  and  that  daugh- 
[268] 


I  Hold  a  Prisoner 


ter  of  his.  Saint  Denis,  but  I  believe  she  was  the  worst 
of  the  two.  I  actually  made  love  to  the  witch  hoping 
thus  to  win  her  over  to  our  side,  although  even  the 
love-making  might  have  been  serious  in  the  end,  if  she 
would  even  listen.  But  you  know  the  lass,  you  say?  " 

"  We  have  met,  yes ;  a  fine  girl  to  my  thought, 
despite  her  drop  of  Indian  blood." 

"  Ay !  fine  enough,"  with  quick  glance  of  suspicion, 
and  hardening  of  the  mouth,  "  for  those  who  like  that 
kind.  To  my  mind  it  makes  a  bad  combination,  French 
and  Indian,  and  worse  yet  when  adulterated  by  re- 
ligion. I  might  have  married  her  —  who  knows  ?  " 
shrugging  his  shoulders,  "  but  she  certainly  would  n't 
listen  to  anything  else.  Lord,  the  wench  was  proud  as 
Lucifer ;  ay !  and  laughed  in  my  face,  and  mocked  me, 
until  even  Hamilton  had  to  grin,  when  I  told  him  the 
story.  'T  was  then  I  made  up  my  mind  to  win  in  spite 
of  her." 

"  To  win  her,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  No,  no !  There  was  but  one  way  of  doing  that, 
and  it  chances  I  possess  a  dislike  for  Indian  blood.  I 
mean  the  Wyandots  to  our  scheme.  'T  was  Hamilton's 
plan,  that  I  suggest  to  her  a  visit  to  the  Wabash  tribes, 
for  she  was  ready  for  any  sacrifice  to  spread  her  faith 
among  the  red-skins.  Ay !  and  by  good  luck  the  scheme 
worked." 

[269] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"That  then  was  what  took  her  south?"  I  asked, 
deeply  interested. 

'  Yes ;  I  fixed  up  a  fine  story,  and  the  priest  gave  her 
his  blessing.  Oh,  it  was  safe  enough;  no  Indian  would 
dare  lay  hand  on  her  in  evil.  Where  did  you  meet  the 
girl?" 

"  Fort  Harmar." 

"What!"  in  surprise.  "She  got  so  far?  she  ven- 
tured there?  What  was  her  purpose,  think  you?  " 

"  Of  that  I  know  nothing,  yet  it  was  there  we  met 
first,  and  she  mistook  me  for  you.  Go  on ;  I  would  hear 
the  rest  of  your  tale;  it  is  growing  dark." 

"  The  rest  is  short  enough,  but  the  girl's  actions  puz- 
zle me.  Once  we  were  rid  of  her,  the  father  had  to  be 
attended  to.  'T  was  no  easy  task,  for  D'Auvray  was  a 
chief,  and  quick  to  quarrel.  'T  is  small  odds  now  how 
the  trick  was  played,  but  I  knew  of  this  cabin,  and  once 
here  I  held  him  prisoner,  while  Hamilton  used  his  dis- 
appearance as  a  whip  to  drive  the  Wyandots  to  war." 

"  He  spread  the  rumor  then  that  D'Auvray  was  cap- 
tured or  killed  by  Americans,  knowing  what  had  oc- 
curred? " 

"  Partly  that,"  with  a  chuckle.  "  He  knew  not  where 
the  man  was,  only  that  I  had  him  safe." 

"  And  by  means  of  this  lie  you  deliberately  plotted  to 
ravage  the  frontier  with  Indian  outrage,"  I  exclaimed 

[270] 


Hold  a  Prisoner 


indignantly,  "  to  turn  loose  a  horde  of  savages  against 
unprotected  settlements,  to  kill  women  and  children. 
'T  is  an  act  of  cold-blooded  murder  you  confess." 

"  Nay,  not  so  fast,  friend,"  his  eyes  hardening  with 
anger.  "  'T  was  war ;  we  but  obeyed  the  orders  that 
came  from  England ;  made  use  of  the  weapons  at  hand." 

"  I  care  nothing  for  the  excuse.  There  was  no  war, 
and  it  was  murder.  Do  n't  call  me  friend !  I  am  no 
friend  of  yours.  Though  you  may  be  of  my  own  blood, 
of  my  own  name,  the  act  was  murder  —  foul,  treacher- 
ous murder.  Yes !  I  wish  I  had  left  you  to  rot  there  in 
that  hole." 

He  was  on  his  feet,  his  face  flaming  with  passion, 
but  I  flung  forward  my  rifle. 

"  Ay !  I  mean  it,  Joseph  Hayward,  if  that  be  your 
name,"  I  went  on,  coldly  enough  now.  "  And  I  would 
say  the  same  to  Hamilton  if  he  were  here.  Stand  where 
you  are,  or  I  will  kill  you  as  I  would  a  mad  cur.  Only 
a  fiend  would  boast  of  such  an  act  of  treachery.  Now 
go  on,  and  tell  me  the  rest.  I  want  no  lie,  but  the  truth 
—  how  did  D'Auvray  meet  his  death  ?  " 

He  stood  glaring  at  me  over  the  rifle  barrel,  his  hands 
gripping  in  desire,  yet  knowing  well  that  any  hostile 
movement  meant  death. 

"Hanged  if  I  '11  tell  you!" 

'*  Then  you  die  where  you  are,  you  dog,"  and  I  meant 
[271  ] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


it.  "  You  have  said  enough  already  to  condemn  3-011. 
I  believe  you  killed  D'Auvray." 

"  I  did  not,"  he  burst  forth.  "  I  did  not  even  know 
he  was  dead.  I  am  not  afraid  of  you,  or  your  threats, 
but  I  will  tell  you  what  occurred  here.  I  'm  ready 
enough,  as  you  will  discover  yet,  to  answer  for  what- 
ever I  do,  but  I  am  not  going  to  bear  the  blame  for 
the  dastard  act  of  another.  I  was  friendly  enough  with 
D'Auvray,  even  if  I  did  seek  to  trick  him  in  this  matter. 
There  was  no  intent  to  take  his  life." 

"  Well  then,  go  on." 

"  I  held  him  prisoner  here,"  he  said  sulkily,  "  al- 
though there  was  no  violence  or  threat.  The  man  did 
not  even  realize  he  was  under  guard,  yet  I  saw  to  it 
that  he  retained  no  arms,  and  was  never  out  of  my  sight. 
'T  was  my  orders  to  hold  him  quiet  until  I  had  message 
from  Hamilton.  He  suspected  nothing,  and  there  was 
no  trouble;  not  so  much  as  a  word  of  controversy  be- 
tween us.  Once  a  day  I  made  circuit  of  the  island  to  as- 
sure myself  we  were  alone.  Occasionally  he  went  with 
me,  but  the  last  time  I  left  him  in  the  cabin  asleep.  It 
was  dusk  when  I  returned;  I  had  seen  nothing  sus- 
picious, and  was  careless.  I  remember  approaching 
the  rear  door,  without  thought  of  danger.  I  must  have 
passed  the  opening  of  the  cave  here,  when  suddenly  I 
was  struck  down  from  behind.  I  saw  nothing,  heard 

[272] 


I  Hold  a  Prisoner 


nothing  of  my  assailant.  When  I  returned  to  conscious- 
ness I  was  lying  here.  That  is  all." 

"  T  would  be  Picaud  who  struck  you  ?  " 

"  Beyond  doubt,  and  then,  thinking  me  dead,  dragged 
me  into  this  hole.  Yet  how  came  we  both  in  there?  " 

"  I  could  barely  distinguish  his  face  in  the  dim 
light." 

"  We  can  only  guess  at  the  rest.  My  theory  would 
be  that  the  negro  was  interrupted  by  our  arrival  at  the 
cabin.  He  discovered  the  entrance  to  the  tunnel,  and 
dragged  you  into  it,  thinking  to  escape  himself.  To 
make  sure  who  we  were  he  crept  into  the  cabin,  and  re- 
covered your  jacket  —  you  left  it  there,  didn't  you?  " 

"  Ay !  it  was  a  warm  night." 

"  The  fellow  must  have  seen  something  that  fright- 
ened him,  that  drove  him  back  into  hiding.  Later  I 
stood  there  in  the  cave  mouth,  looking  about.  Perhaps 
it  was  then  he  crawled  into  the  tunnel,  and  replaced  the 
door.  Ah,  I  have  it  —  he  did  that  later  when  he  recog- 
nized the  voice  of  Mademoiselle." 

"  Of  who  ?    Mademoiselle  ?  " 

"Mademoiselle  D'Auvray;  she  joined  me  as  I  stood 
there.  Her  presence  would  account  for  his  fear." 

He  leaned  forward,  as  if  endeavoring  to  decipher  my 
face. 

"  Are  you  telling  me  truth?  "  he  asked  hoarsely.  "  Is 
[273] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


that  girl  here?  What  could  have  brought  her  to  this 
place?  What  does  she  suspect?  What  does  she 
know  ?  " 

"  That  I  cannot  tell,  except  that  she  believes  you 
killed  her  father ;  the  discovery  of  your  coat  convinced 
her  of  that.  As  to  how  she  came  here  —  she  traveled 
with  Girty  from  Fort  Harmar,  seeking  to  reach  the 
Wyandots  in  advance  of  me.  She  came  to  the  cabin 
alone,  hoping  to  find  her  father,  but  instead  found  us  in 
possession,  and  D'Auvray's  dead  body.  It  was  she  who 
thrust  me  into  the  tunnel,  and  saved  my  life." 

"  And,  now,  man,  where  is  she  ?  " 

"  With  those  Indians  who  attacked  us,  and  burned 
the  cabin  —  she  may  be  a  prisoner." 

He  laughed  uneasily,  shifting  his  position. 

"  No  fear  of  that.  She  is  a  wonder  worker  with 
these  savages;  they  are  afraid  of  her;  they  think  her 
cross  will  work  miracles.  Saint  Denis !  I  would  rather 
have  her  with  me  than  all  the  chiefs." 

"  Could  she  save  a  man  from  the  torture,  the  stake?  " 

"  She  has  done  it ;  ay !  I  saw  it  done,  and  it  took 
some  courage.  But  she  might  fail  with  these  renegades. 
Who  is  the  man?  " 

"  Brady ;  the  scout  who  accompanied  me." 

"  I  know  of  the  fellow ;  she  would  have  small  chance 
of  saving  him."  He  paused,  then  asked  suddenly: 

[274] 


/  Hold  a  Prisoner 


"  What  about  me  ?  Am  I  a  prisoner,  or  free  to  go  ? 
Do  you  absolve  me  of  murder?  " 

"  Of  killing  D'Auvray  —  yes.  But  your  hands  are 
bloody  enough  without  that  crime." 

"  Then  I  may  go  my  way  ?  " 

"To  more  treachery?  to  those  Indians  to  report  my 
presence  here  ?  " 

"  No,  I  swear  — 

"  I  accept  no  pledge  from  you.  You  say  't  is  already 
war  on  the  border ;  then  I  will  act  accordingly.  We  will 
wait  here  until  she  comes." 

"  She !  not  Mademoiselle  D'Auvray." 

"  Yes,"  I  answered  tersely.  "  Mademoiselle  D'Auv- 
ray." 


[275] 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

AN   EFFORT   TO   SAVE   BRADY 

r| iHE  night  had  closed  down  without,  but  the  rem- 
nants  of  fire  still  eating  away  the  dry  logs  of  the 
cabin,  yielded  a  red  tinge  to  the  interior  of  the  cellar. 
It  was  a  spectral,  eery  light,  brightening  as  some  breeze 
fanned  the  flames,  and  then  as  suddenly  lasping  into 
dimness.  Yet  sufficient  glow  found  way  down  the  en- 
trance to  enable  me  to  see  my  prisoner,  and  observe  his 
movements.  He  received  my  words  quietly,  breathing 
heavily,  and  then  laughed. 

"  You  must  possess  an  odd  sense  of  humor,"  he  said 
finally.  "  Do  you  realize  where  you  are,  man  ?  'T  is  a 
long  way  to  the  Ohio,  and  the  woods  between  by  now 
swarm  with  savages.  You  will  do  better  far  to  make  a 
friend  of  me  than  an  enemy." 

"  I  see  no  reason  for  choosing  either,"  I  answered, 
pleasantly  enough.  "  We  chance  to  be  on  opposite 
sides,  and  I  deem  it  safer  to  hold  you  here  until  the 
lady  determines  what  to  do.  She  knows  you  better 
than  I." 

"  She  comes  here  then  ?  " 

"  Those  were  her  last  words  to  me." 
[277] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  But  it  may  be  I  have  no  wish  to  remain ;  no  desire 
to  meet  this  woman." 

I  smiled  at  him. 

"  Your  wish  in  the  matter  has  small  weight  with  me. 
You  remain  where  you  are,  and  my  authority  is  this 
rifle." 

"  You  '11  regret  that,"  angrily.  "  Mark  my  words 
now,  and  show  some  sense.  I  can  help  you  escape;  I 
can  point  you  a  way  through  the  Indian  lines  to  your 
own  people.  I  have  authority  here,  and  power.  Treat 
me  right,  and  I  will  do  this.  If  you  refuse  I  '11  turn 
you  over  to  the  first  band  of  stragglers  to  do  with  as 
they  please.  Lay  down  your  rifle !  You  do  n't  dare 
fire  at  me." 

"And  why  not?" 

"  Because  of  the  alarm.  I  am  not  a  fool ;  the  Indians 
have  not  deserted  this  neighborhood." 

"  I  will  take  the  risk,"  I  asserted  gravely,  "  rather 
than  have  you  get  past.  Do  n't  rely  on  my  fear  —  you 
will  find  that  dangerous.  What  is  the  harm  of  remain- 
ing? Are  you  afraid  to  meet  the  girl?  " 

"  Afraid !     Why  should  I  —  " 

A  descending  figure  blotted  out  the  red  glare  of  the 
entrance.  We  both  stared  upward  unable  to  decide  who 
the  visitor  might  be;  I  could  perceive  merely  a  dim, 
indistinct  outline.  The  smudge  of  a  figure  descended 

[278] 


An  Effort  to  Save  Brady 


quietly,  yet  with  evident  confidence  that  the  dark  cellar 
was  deserted.  I  attempted  to  step  back,  so  as  not  to  be 
between  the  two,  but  something  rattled  under  my  foot, 
sounding  loud  in  the  silence.  The  intruder  stopped 
instantly,  drawing  a  quick  breath  of  surprise. 

"Who  is  here?  answer!"  There  was  the  sharp 
click  of  a  gun  lock;  the  words  were  French,  the  voice 
unmistakable. 

"  Hayward,  Mademoiselle." 

She  laughed  in  sudden  relief. 

"  Peste!  you  startled  me !  How  came  you  out  here. 
Monsieur?  " 

"  The  smoke  of  the  burning  cabin  drove  me  out ;  else 
I  should  have  suffocated.  I  burst  open  the  door." 

"  Burst  it  open !  "  incredulously.  "  Then  it  was  not 
barred  ?  Someone  had  entered  from  this  end." 

"  So  I  discovered,  Mademoiselle ;  one  of  them  is  here 
with  me  —  an  old  acquaintance  of  yours." 

"  Of  mine !  " 

"  Ay !  step  out  into  the  cave  so  the  light  can  find 
entrance ;  now,  do  you  know  the  man  ?  " 

Her  eyes  wandered  from  me,  whom  she  located  by 
voice,  toward  the  Englishman,  who  remained  silent,  his 
scarlet  coat  conspicuous  in  the  glare.  A  moment  their 
glances  met,  his  face  showing  white  and  drawn,  hers  I 
could  not  see. 

[279] 


The  MM  of  the  Forest 


"  Oh,  so  it  is  you,  is  it !  "  a  metallic  ring  to  the  low 
voice.  "  I  thought  you  were  safely  away  before  this. 
And  you  have  been  hiding  here.  I  ought  to  have  sus- 
pected that.  Now  I  remember,  you  knew  of  the  tunnel." 

Pie  did  not  answer,  although  I  saw  his  lips  move. 
What  was  the  man  afraid  of?  He  had  been  sharp  and 
snappy  enough  with  me. 

"  I  think  you  mistake,  Madamoiselle,"  I  interposed, 
shocked  at  the  expression  of  the  man's  face.  "  He  has 
told  me  how  it  occurred ;  it  was  another  who  killed  your 
father." 

"What  other?" 

"  A  negro  half-breed ;  I  encountered  him  in  the  pas- 
,sage ;  we  fought  it  out  there  in  the  dark." 

"  Alone  ?     Where  was  this  —  this  man  ?  " 

"  He  was  lying  unconscious  beyond,  next  to  the 
entrance." 

"  And  —  and,"  the  words  trembled  on  her  lips,  "  you 
—  killed  the  negro  ?  " 

"  No,  Mademoiselle,  I  did  not.  We  struggled  to- 
gether ;  then  he  fired  at  me,  and  in  the  flash  saw  my  face. 
The  sight  seemed  to  frighten  the  man,  for  he  broke 
away,  and  endeavored  to  run.  In  his  haste  he  forgot 
the  lowness  of  the  tunnel,  struck  his  head  against  a 
;sharp  projection,  and  died." 

She  stood  motionless,  her  hands  pressed  to  her  fore- 
[280] 


An  Effort  to  Save  Brady 


head.  Suddenly  she  turned  from  me,  and  faced  him.  I 
thought  he  shrank  back  against  the  wall ;  but,  for  a  long 
moment,  she  stood  there  in  silence,  staring  at  him. 

"  Who  was  it?  "  she  asked,  at  last,  her  voice  like  ice. 
"  Tell  me  the  truth  —  was  it  Picaud?  " 

He  dropped  his  eyes,  with  an  odd  gesture  of  the  shoul- 
ders. The  girl's  rifle  flashed  to  a  level,  so  quickly  I 
could  not  even  throw  out  my  arm. 

"  Say  yes,  or  no !  Please  stand  back,  Monsieur :  this 
is  my  affair." 

"  Yes,"  the  word  seemed  dragged  from  him. 

"  And  you  told  Monsieur  here  the  negro  killed  my 
father?  You  said  that?  " 

His  lips  moved,  but  no  sound  came  forth  from  them. 
She  waited  a  breathless  moment. 

"  That  was  a  lie !  You  would  not  dare  repeat  that  to 
me,"  she  burst  forth  passionately,  her  whole  body  trem- 
bling. "  You  thought  you  could  tell  him,  and  he  would 
believe  you ;  would  pity  you,  and  let  you  go.  You  did 
not  dream  that  I  was  here  —  I,  Rene  D'Auvray,  Mon- 
sieur —  to  face  you.  You  are  afraid  of  me ;  yes  you 
are  —  it  is  in  your  eyes.  You  think  me  an  Indian? 
that  I  will  avenge  myself?  Is  that  what  you  fear?  " 

He  could  not  look  her  in  the  face,  his  glance  wander- 
ing to  me  almost  in  appeal. 

"  I  am  an  Indian,"  she  went  on  more  calmly,  "  but  I 
[281] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


am  also  French,  and  a  Christian.  I  leave  God  to  pun- 
ish you,  Monsieur.  No;  do  not  interrupt  me  now;  I 
care  nothing  for  what  you  say.  I  know  what  you  have 
done,  the  lying  trick  which  led  me  to  desert  my  tribe; 
the  subsequent  treachery  which  brought  my  father  here 
to  his  death,  the  falsehoods  with  which  you  induced  my 
people  to  declare  war.  There  is  but  one  punishment  for 
you;  it  will  not  come  from  my  hands,  but  never  again 
will  you  dare  put  foot  in  a  village  of  the  Wyandots. 
Somewhere  the  blow  of  vengeance  will  strike  you  down." 

He  muttered  something  in  Indian  dialect  I  could  not 
understand. 

"  You  say  that  to  me !  You  dare  say  that !  You  are 
a  bold  man  to  try  and  threaten  me  now.  Ay,  do  it  then 
—  Monsieur,"  and  she  stepped  aside  facing  me,  "  this 
brute  of  an  Englishman  claims  to  be  my  husband." 

"  What,"  I  exclaimed  in  shocked  surprise.  "  He  told 
me  he  attempted  to  make  love  to  you,  but  failed,  yet 
hinted  that  marriage  might  have  been  possible." 

"  He  did  venture  that  far.  Then,  Monsieur,  I  will 
tell  you  the  truth.  He  won  my  father  to  him  —  God 
alone  knows  how  —  and  persuaded  me  to  go  through  the 
tribal  ceremony.  To  me,  a  Christian  and  a  French 
woman,  that  mockery  of  form  means  no  more  than  to 
him.  It  was  the  price  I  paid  for  peace." 

"But  the  Wyandots?" 

[282] 


An  Effort  to  Save  Brady 


"  In  their  eyes  I  am  this  man's  squaw,"  her  voice  trem- 
bling with  scorn,  her  hand  pointing  at  him.  "  But  in 
the  eyes  of  God,  I  am  not.  His  hand  has  never  touched 
me  —  never  will.  Monsieur,  I  had  to  tell  you." 

"  And  I  am  glad  you  did.  It  is  better  for  me  to 
know." 

"  Oh,  I  begin  to  see,"  broke  in  the  prisoner,  finding 
his  voice.  "  'T  is  not  my  appearance  that  you  object 
to,  Mademoiselle,  only  you  prefer  the  Yankee  edition." 

I  strode  forward  threateningly. 

"  You  low-lived  coward  —  " 

"  No,  Monsieur,  let  him  talk,"  and  she  caught  my 
arm.  "  We  have  no  time  now  for  a  personal  quarrel. 
We  must  save  a  man's  life." 

"His?" 

"  Monsieur  Brady's.  There  is  but  one  way.  'T  was 
for  his  sake,  the  endeavor  to  save  him  from  torture,  that 
I  was  so  long  in  coming  here.  I  did  all  that  was  in  my 
power,  but  those  Indians  are  not  of  my  tribe.  They 
might  listen  to  me,  but  for  the  Englishman  who  leads 
them.  He  is  heartless,  more  cruel  than  any  savage; 
moreover  Brady  struck  him,  and  he  suspects  me  of  aid- 
ing you  to  escape.  There  is  no  mercy  in  him,  and  I 
have  failed.  They  mean  to  burn  him  at  the  stake,  and 
I  could  do  no  more." 

"  Where  are  they  now?  "     I  asked  in  horror. 
[283] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Yonder  on  the  mainland.  I  could  not  remain  to 
witness  the  scene  —  I  could  not,  Monsieur.  I  was 
under  guard,  but  stole  away  in  the  darkness,  and  came 
here,  praying  I  might  find  you  yet  waiting.  Now  I 
know  God  has  answered  my  prayers.  He  has  shown  me 
the  way." 

She  turned  from  me,  her  eyes  on  his  face. 

"  Are  you  any  relative  to  Monsieur  whom  you  resem- 
ble so  much?  " 

He  laughed  unpleasantly. 

"  Lord,  I  hope  not  —  if  so  the  connection  is  too  re- 
mote to  be  considered.  I  have  no  desire  to  claim  any 
Yankee  cousins.  Why?  " 

"  The  reason  is  not  material.  I  want  you  to  hear 
me.  I  do  not  know  you  killed  my  father,  but  I  suspect 
it,  and  am  certain  you  lured  him  to  his  death.  If  it 
was  Picaud's  hand  that  did  the  deed,  it  was  done  at  your 
desire.  I  would  be  justified  as  a  Wyandot  in  killing 
you  —  even  this  Americain  would  grant  me  the  right  — 
but  I  am  going  to  spare  you,  Monsieur  —  on  one  con- 
dition." 

"  What  ?  "  the  very  sound  of  his  voice  proved  his 
realization  of  her  seriousness. 

"  That  you  accompany  me  to  the  Indian  camp  yon- 
der, and  help  me  save  that  white  man's  life." 

"  What  do  I  care  —  " 

[284] 


An  Effort  to  Save  Brady 


"  You  care  for  your  own,  no  doubt.  Well,  Monsieur, 
it  hangs  by  a  hair.  Only  on  such  a  pledge  will  you  go 
forth  from  here  alive." 

"  You  threaten  to  kill  me?  " 

"  It  is  hardly  a  threat  —  it  is  a  certainty,  Monsieur. n 

He  looked  from  her  face  to  mine,  and  there  was  small 
sign  of  mercy  in  either.  The  memory  of  Brady  and  his 
peril;  the  knowledge  of  what  this  man  had  done,  his 
cold-blooded  treachery,  his  lies,  caused  the  hot  blood  ta 
surge  through  my  veins.  He  was  to  me  a  cowardly 
cur,  and  the  very  thought  fanned  my  anger. 

"  Mademoiselle  will  not  be  the  executioner,"  I  said 
slowly.  "  I  will  take  that  duty  on  myself." 

"  You !  I  thought  you  a  soldier ;  would  you  kill  me  in 
cold  blood?" 

"  You  have  done  the  work  of  a  spy,  sir,  creeping 
in  the  dark  like  a  snake.  The  blood  of  this  Indian 
war  rests  on  you  —  the  innocent  blood  of  women  and 
children." 

"  The  savages  would  tear  you  limb  from  limb,  you 
Yankee  fool,"  he  snarled. 

"  Possibly,  but  it  would  be  after  you  were  dead,  sir." 

I  thought  he  would  spring  at  me,  and  I  half  hoped  he 
would.  Yes,  it  would  have  been  pleasant  to  have  got 
hand  on  his  throat,  but  fear  conquered  anger,  his  hands 
clinched,  his  teeth  biting  his  lips  until  the  blood  came. 

[285] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Tell  me  the  plan  then,"  he  said  roughly. 

"  I  can  control  the  Indians,"  she  went  on,  as  if  there 
had  been  no  interruption,  "  if  the  Englishman  does  not 
interfere.  It  will  be  your  part  to  command  him." 

"Who  is  the  fellow?" 

"  The  fur  trader  —  Lappin." 

He  stared  into  her  face ;  then  laughed  insolently. 

"  Then  the  game  is  up.  By  the  gods,  it  would  be 
more  likely  he  burned  me.  You  make  sport  to  suggest 
I  could  influence  that  monster." 

"  I  do  not,"  her  face  changeless  in  its  expression. 
"  There  is  nothing  for  you  to  laugh  at.  I  know  you  two 
are  enemies,  but  he  dare  not  ignore  your  uniform.  He 
has  no  authority  and  you  have.  You  can  accomplish 
the  rescue  of  this  prisoner  if  you  have  the  courage,  and 
will.  There  is  only  one  thing  for  you  to  say  —  yes, 
or  no." 

There  was  absolute  silence.  I  did  not  look  toward 
her,  but  kept  my  eyes  on  him,  reading  the  struggle  in 
his  face.  I  saw  his  eyes  wander  this  way  and  that,  as 
if  seeking  some  possible  escape.  He  had  the  appear- 
ance of  a  wild  animal  trapped,  helpless.  I  could  hear 
his  quick  breath.  I  waited  until  I  could  stand  the  strain 
no  longer;  then  took  a  step  backward,  determined  to 
force  a  reply.  The  lock  of  my  rifle  snapped  to  full 
cock,  as  I  flung  forward  the  barrel. 

[286] 


An  Effort  to  Save  Brady 


"  Answer  the  lady,"  I  commanded  sternly. 

His  eyes  settled  on  my  face;  they  were  furtive, 
cowardly. 

"  Oh  —  well  —  I  '11  go,"  he  said  slowly  and  sullenly. 
"  But  it 's  little  enough  good  you  '11  get  out  of  it,  I 
promise  you." 


[«87] 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE   FIRE   IN    THE   CLEARING 

T  LOWERED  the  rifle,  but  with  mind  fully  made  up  as 

to  my  own  part  in  the  play.  That  the  man  contem- 
plated treachery  was  sufficiently  clear.  How  it  might 
be  prevented  occurred  to  me  in  a  flash. 

"  I  understand  your  intention,"  I  said  sharply. 
"  Now  I  am  going  to  give  you  warning  that  your  life 
hangs  in  the  balance.  If  I  comprehend  the  desire  of 
this  lady  it  is  that  you  accompany  her  alone  to  where 
these  Indians  hold  their  prisoner  for  torture  —  is  that 
true,  Mademoiselle?" 

I  was  not  looking  at  her,  yet  I  knew  her  eyes  were 
upon  my  face  in  wonderment. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur ;  together  we  will  seek  to  save 
your  friend." 

"  So  I  thought.  But  this  man  has  no  such  intention. 
He  has  promised  merely  to  free  himself.  Once  within 
that  Indian  camp  he  will  be  out  of  danger,  safe  by  the 
magic  of  his  uniform,  and  his  office.  He  will  denounce 
us  both,  and  lift  no  hand  in  defense  of  Brady." 

"  You  lie,  you  Yankee  coward !  " 

"  It  was  in  your  eyes,  sir,  as  you  gave  pledge.  Ever 
[289] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


since  Mademoiselle  came  you  have  been  seeking  oppor- 
tunity for  escape.  She  may  trust  you,  but  I  do  not, 
and  you  are  not  going  there  with  Mademoiselle  alone." 

"  What  is  that  you  say  ?  "  she  questioned,  her  hand 
on  my  arm.  "  It  must  be  so,  Monsieur ;  there  is  no 
other  way.  The  man  dare  not  fail;  he  would  thus 
atone  —  " 

"  No,  he  will  not  fail,  because  if  he  does  he  dies  right 
there,"  I  interrupted  quietly.  "  Listen  now ;  it  is 
night,  and  I  go  along  with  you  on  this  errand  of  mercy. 
It  is  my  comrade  condemned  to  the  stake,  and  I  will 
have  my  share  in  his  rescue.  You  will  go,  the  two  of 
you,  directly  into  the  Indian  camp;  you  may  win,  or 
you  may  fail  in  your  pleas  for  mercy  —  but  there  will 
be  no  treachery.  Do  you  know  why,  sir?  "  and  I  stared 
him  in  the  face,  angered  by  the  sneer  on  his  lip. 
"  You  'd  better  pay  heed !  Because  I  shall  lie  hidden  in 
the  dark,  outside  the  radius  of  the  firelight,  with  rifle 
trained  on  your  heart.  Not  for  an  instant  will  you  be 
beyond  my  power  to  kill.  They  count  me  a  good  shot 
along  this  border,  and  if  you  say  a  word,  or  raise  a 
hand  in  treachery  to  this  girl,  I  shall  kill  you." 

"  It  will  cost  you  your  life,  you  devil." 

"  That  does  n't  frighten  me  in  the  least.  We  may 
look  alike ;  we  may  even  have  some  of  the  same  blood  in 
our  veins  —  God  knows  I  hope  not  —  but  there  all 

[290] 


The  Fire  in  the  Clearing 


resemblance  ends.     I  will  do  what  I  say ;  do  you  believe 
that?" 

He  did  not  move  nor  answer,  but  he  believed.  Con- 
viction was  written  plainly  on  his  face.  Mademoiselle's 
hand  was  still  on  my  arm,  and  I  felt  her  grasp  tighten. 
I  ventured  to  turn  my  eyes  aside  to  glance  at  her. 

"  Have  I  spoken  rightly?  " 

"  Old,  Monsieur,"  softly.       "  I  like  you." 

My  pulses  leaped  in  response  to  the  unexpected 
words.  Impulsive,  unreserved,  the  swift  outpouring  of 
her  heart,  they  were  sufficient  reward;  I  read  in  them 
meanings  far  deeper  than  she  intended.  No  doubt 
she  saw  this  in  my  face,  for  her  cheeks  flamed,  and  she 
drew  back,  turning  swiftly  toward  him. 

"  It  shall  be  as  the  Americain  says,"  her  voice  trem- 
bling slightly.  "  I  believe  in  him  —  he  is  a  man." 

There  was  a  bitter  retort  on  his  lips,  but  he  caught 
my  eyes  in  time,  and  smothered  it  with  a  curse.  God 
knows  I  needed  but  an  excuse  to  throttle  him,  which  he 
was  swift  to  see. 

"  Go  on  now,"  I  commanded  grimly,  "  and  do  not 
forget.  Mademoiselle,  do  you  go  first,  and  show  the 
way.  I  will  keep  good  guard  of  the  rear." 

She  gave  me  her  hand  in  a  long,  lingering  clasp,  and 
then  her  slender  figure  blotted  out  the  red  glare  as  she 
mounted  the  steps. 

[291] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  You  next,  sir,"  the  words  sufficiently  polite,  but 
my  rifle  flung  forward,  in  readiness  to  enforce  the  brief 
order. 

"  Curse  you !    I  '11  make  you  pay  for  this  !  " 

"  Hold  yourself  to  words,  and  threats,"  I  returned 
coolly,  "  but  do  as  I  say  —  move  on !  " 

He  climbed  the  stairs,  muttering  savagely,  with  me 
following  so  close  behind  the  muzzle  of  my  gun  touched 
his  back.  There  had  come  into  my  heart  a  deep  hatred 
of  the  fellow  that  left  me  almost  vengeful ;  he  had  acted 
like  a  cur  already;  had  lied  to  her;  had  deceived  her 
into  what  was  practically  a  mock  marriage;  had  been 
responsible  for  her  father's  murder,  and  even  now 
planned  treachery.  No  sympathy,  no  mercy,  appealed 
to  me. 

At  the  top  the  light  from  the  blazing  logs  gave  us  full 
view  of  each  other,  but  there  was  danger  in  remaining 
there  thus  exposed.  The  girl  turned  sharply  to  the 
left,  leading  the  way  into  the  woods,  and  then  circling 
toward  the  ford.  There  was  no  word  spoken,  save  as 
I  gave  a  brief  order  or  two.  As  we  came  into  the  black 
shadows  of  the  overhanging  trees,  I  walked  close 
enough  behind  to  touch  him  ever  with  my  rifle  barrel. 

"  I  am  playing  safe,"  I  muttered  grimly,  "  so  do  n't 
try  any  tricks  in  the  dark." 

We  came  out  on  the  shore,  pausing  a  moment  to  gaze 
[292  ] 


The  Fire  in  the  Clearing 


out  across  the  water  to  the  gloom  of  the  mainland. 
There  was  shouting  in  the  distance,  faintly  echoed  along 
the  smooth  surface  of  the  lake,  and  to  the  right  a  slight 
reddening  of  the  sky  above  the  trees. 

"The  camp  is  yonder?"  I  asked,  feeling  my  flesh 
creep  in  horror.  "  It  is  there  they  torture  the 
prisoner?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur ;  the  savages  are  all  there  now. 
They  do  not  fear  interruption." 

"  Yet  they  know  of  my  escape?  " 

"  Yes;  Lappin  and  the  Ojibwa  chief  believe  I  helped 
you.  'T  is  that  which  made  them  angry.  When  I 
interposed  for  Monsieur  Brady  —  urging  that  he  was 
on  a  mission  of  peace,  and  should  be  taken  as  a  prisoner 
to  the  Wyandots  —  they  drove  me  from  the  camp.  It 
was  best  I  go,  for  I  could  do  nothing  —  they  were  not 
my  people." 

"  But  why  did  they  not  search  for  me  ?  " 

"  Because  they  were  baffled,  Monsieur ;  they  found 
no  trail.  I  sank  the  broken  boat  in  the  lake,  and  when 
they  found  where  it  had  been  dragged  along  the  shore, 
they  believed  you  had  crossed  the  water,  and  got  safely 
away.  Against  me  they  were  mad  with  hate.  They 
would  have  laid  hands  on  me,  only  Lappin  knew  the 
Wyandots  were  coming." 

"Here?  this  way?" 

[293] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  That  is  the  story  whispered  me  by  a  friendly  Shaw- 
nee.  Already  there  is  war,  and  the  tribes  gather  to 
attack  the  Americains.  The  Wyandots  follow  this  trail. 
'T  is  because  Lappin  knows  this  he  urges  the  torture. 
If  we  can  delay  until  my  people  come  these  outlaws  will 
be  like  sheep.  Come,  Monsieur,  we  must  go." 

Her  swiftly  spoken  words  had  rendered  the  dreadful 
situation  clear.  The  fur-trader,  by  nature  a  brutal 
renegade,  angered  by  resistance,  by  my  attack  on  him 
in  the  forest,  by  Rene's  successful  effort  at  my  escape, 
had  determined  in  his  vengeful  heart  that  Stephen 
Brady  should  pay  the  full  price  of  it  all.  Possibly  he 
had  some  personal  reason  also  for  desiring  to  see  the 
old  scout  suffer.  And  he  possessed  the  power ;  he  com- 
manded the  band  of  Shawnees,  and  the  others  were  out- 
casts easily  inflamed  to  any  deviltry.  But  the  deed 
must  be  done  quickly,  without  delay,  before  the  Wyan- 
dots came. 

We  went  down  into  the  water  together,  the  girl  lead- 
ing the  way  in  confidence,  holding  her  rifle  high  above 
her  head.  Trusting  to  her  to  find  safe  footing  I  kept 
my  eyes  on  the  prisoner.  There  was  no  word  spoken, 
no  noise  except  the  soft  ripple  of  the  water  against  our 
bodies.  Wet  and  dripping  we  climbed  the  bank  of  the 
main  shore.  It  was  dark  under  the  trees,  so  we  could 
scarcely  distinguish  each  other.  She  paused,  listening 

[294] 


The  Fire  in  the  Clearing 


to  the  yells  of  the  savages,  now  sounding  much  nearer, 
and  in  greater  volume.  Then  she  peered  about  into 
our  faces. 

"  I  cannot  tell  the  one  from  the  other,"  in  a  whisper, 
"  only  as  I  know  the  Americain  bears  the  gun.  Now 
hear  me,  both  of  you.  There  are  no  guards  set,  for 
those  Indians  believe  there  is  no  enemy  near,  yet  we 
cannot  be  too  cautious.  There  is  a  trail  here  leading 
to  the  opening  in  the  forest  where  they  are.  I  know 
it  well,  and  can  follow  it  in  the  dark."  She  touched  the 
Englishman's  sleeve.  "  You  will  take  hold  of  the  bar- 
rel of  my  gun  —  so !  and  advance  as  I  do ;  and  you, 
Monsieur  —  " 

"  Do  not  fear  my  being  lost,"  I  interrupted  confi- 
dently. "  Our  friend  will  feel  me  at  his  back  every  step 
of  the  way." 

It  was  a  crooked  path,  winding  around  trees,  and 
through  thickets  of  dense  undergrowth.  To  my  eyes 
there  was  little  of  guidance,  but  my  thought  was  con- 
centrated on  the  man  I  guarded.  Once  he  swore,  but 
ceased  instantly  as  I  punched  him  with  the  rifle  muzzle. 
I  rubbed  against  trees,  my  feet  tangled  in  roots,  strag- 
gling undergrowth  slapped  me  in  the  face.  The 
advance  was  slow,  cautious,  the  Indian  in  Mademoiselle 
showing  in  every  stealthy  movement.  I  could  not  see 
her  at  all,  nor  distinguish  a  motion ;  not  a  twig  snapped 

[295] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


under  her  moccasined  feet;  not  a  leaf  rustled  against 
her  body.  It  was  still  as  death  where  we  were;  only 
those  fiendish  yells  piercing  the  blackness  ahead  yielded 
me  any  sense  of  reality.  They  sounded  like  the  cries 
of  devils,  and  brought  with  them  the  thought  that  we 
were  approaching  the  mouth  of  hell.  Then,  through 
the  screen  of  tree  trunks  there  came  to  my  straining 
eyes  the  red,  sinister  glare  of  fire. 

I  do  not  know  how  close  we  ventured  before  Mademoi- 
selle stopped,  and  crouched  down  in  the  narrow  path. 
Seldom  before  had  I  realized  what  real  shuddering  fear 
was,  but  I  shook  then  like  an  aspen,  gritting  my  teeth 
in  an  effort  at  self-control.  Against  the  glimmer  of 
light  ahead  I  could  perceive  the  outlines  of  the  two  — 
the  man  half  sheltered  behind  a  tree ;  the  girl  kneeling, 
with  one  hand  parting  the  bushes  before  her.  He 
glanced  about  furtively,  catching  my  eyes,  a  ghastly, 
scared  look  on  his  face.  In  fear  lest  his  panic  might 
drive  him  to  some  mad  act,  I  laid  a  hand  heavily  on  his 
shoulder.  He  swallowed  in  his  throat,  giving  utterance 
to  a  smothered  groan ;  then  stared  the  other  way.  She 
turned  her  head  slightly  at  the  faint  sound,  and  the  red 
light  was  on  her  face.  Just  that  swift  glimpse  made 
me  ashamed  of  my  weakness,  my  cowardice.  I  stood 
straight,  my  fingers  gripping  him  in  a  vise,  my  glance 
on  the  hideous  scene  revealed.  I  could  see  little,  mere 

[296] 


The  Fire  in  the  Clearing 


glimpses  through  the  intervening  branches,  yet  enough 
to  show  that  we  were  close  to  the  edge  of  a  small  clear- 
ing in  which  a  considerable  fire  burned.  The  red  and 
yellow  flames  lit  up  the  open  space  fairly  well,  but  all 
around  the  black  forest  wall  closed  in  tightly.  It  was 
like  a  grotesque  picture  in  a  frame.  Before  the  fire, 
mostly  with  their  backs  toward  us,  I  counted  twenty 
savages  on  the  grass,  their  red  skins  and  matted  hair 
showing  clearly.  They  were  silent,  motionless,  appar- 
ently staring  into  the  flames.  The  fiendish  yelling 
came  from  beyond,  from  the  other  side  of  the  fire,  where 
I  caught  fitful  glimpse  of  wildly  dancing  figures,  of 
arms  flung  in  air,  of  brandished  guns,  and  streaming 
hair.  I  knew  not  which  was  the  more  terrifying  spec- 
tacle —  that  mad  dance,  or  those  silent,  brooding  fig- 
ures —  the  unrestrained  savagery  of  youth,  or  the  grim 
barbarism  of  age.  I  read  the  meaning  of  it  all  in  a 
glance  —  the  council  determining  the  prisoner's  fate  — 
the  warriors  assured  already  of  his  condemnation.  Yet 
where  was  Brady?  Where  was  the  fur-trader?  Al- 
though I  leaned  forward,  searching  widely  on  either 
side,  I  could  discover  neither  man.  Then,  suddenly, 
the  two  came  forward  out  of  the  darkness  directly  to 
where  the  chiefs  sat. 

I  saw  Mademoiselle  rise  silently  to  her  feet,  but  my 
hand  only  gripped  harder  on  the  Englishman's  shoul- 

[297] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


der  as  I  watched.  Brady  advanced  between  two 
Indians,  his  arms  bound  behind  him,  a  bloody  cloth 
concealing  his  jaw.  He  was  bare-headed,  his  clothing 
rags,  and  he  staggered  slightly  as  he  walked.  An 
Indian  struck  him  with  a  stick,  a  vicious  blow,  and 
Lappin  jerked  him  forward  between  the  chiefs  and  the 
fire.  The  warriors  sat  there  impassive,  emotionless, 
their  eyes  cold  and  merciless.  Brady  looked  into  that 
ring  of  savage  faces  without  a  quiver,  throwing  back 
his  shoulders,  blood  trickling  down  one  cheek.  It  even 
seemed  to  me  his  eyes  smiled.  Then  one  of  the  chiefs 
spoke  without  rising,  in  deep  guttural  voice.  I  heard 
the  words,  but  they  were  meaningless,  a  jumble  of 
sound,  yet  somehow  menacing,  gruff  with  threat.  The 
discordant  yelling  ceased,  and  a  dark  mass  of  forms 
clustered  beyond  the  blaze,  drawing  together  in  a  half 
circle  behind  the  prisoner.  The  light  played  over  dark, 
sinister  faces  and  sparkled  in  the  wild  savage  eyes.  It 
was  a  horrid  scene  —  that  small  open  space  lit  up  by 
the  fire  glare,  and  banked  about  by  the  black  wall  of 
trees,  filled  with  those  demons,  half  naked,  repulsive, 
weapons  gleaming  in  their  hands,  their  glittering  eyes 
on  the  helpless  Brady  waiting  the  torture.  As  I  looked 
forth  upon  it  I  grew  sick,  my  limbs  trembling. 

The  girl  stepped  backward,  noiselessly,  until  she  stood 
beside  me,  her  hand  touching  my  arm. 

[298] 


The  Fire  in  the  Clearing 


"  We  are  here  in  time,"  she  whispered,  "  but  can 
delay  no  longer." 

"  He  is  condemned  then?    They  will  not  spare  him?  " 

"  The  chief  speaks  in  Shawnee,  and  I  know  little  of 
the  tongue,  but  there  is  no  mercy  in  his  words." 

"  And  you  mean  to  go  out  there,  to  face  those  fiends  ? 
Are  you  not  afraid?  " 

She  smiled,  a  sad,  brave  smile  up  into  my  eyes. 

"  Monsieur,  I  must,"  she  said  pleadingly.  "  It  is  not 
only  his  life,  but  my  duty.  I  leave  my  rifle  here,  and 
bear  this ;  with  Christ  I  am  not  afraid." 

And  in  her  clasped  hands,  reddened  by  the  flames,  I 
saw  a  crucifix. 


[299] 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   RECOGNITION 

O  HE  bowed  her  head,  her  lips  pressed  to  the  cross, 
and,  when  she  looked  up  again  into  my  face,  I  had 
no  words  to  say;  I  could  but  choke,  and  brush  tears 
from  my  eyes. 

"  It  is  right,  Monsieur,"  she  murmured  softly.  "  You 
would  not  have  me  fail.  I  —  I  am  glad  you  care  —  so 
much."  She  lifted  her  head  and  faced  him.  "  You  are 
ready,  Lieutenant  Hayward  ?  " 

The  question  came  to  him  with  a  shock,  his  eyes  wan- 
dering from  her  face  to  mine,  and  then  beyond  to  the 
red  fire.  There  was  a  ghastliness  to  his  face  horrible 
to  look  upon. 

"  If  I  must  —  yes,"  he  managed  to  articulate  in  a 
voice  that  shook.  "  Yet  I  —  I  dread  the  task ;  some 
instinct  tells  me  we  will  fail.  I  would  it  were  any  white 
man  in  these  woods  out  there  rather  than  Lappin."  He 
glared  at  me,  angry  at  himself  for  exhibiting  such 
weakness.  '*  I  am  no  coward,  sir  —  she  knows  that  to 
be  true.  I  have  done  England's  work  on  this  frontier 
for  five  long  years,  and  faced  death  more  than  once  — 
but  this,  this,"  a  sudden  shudder  shook  him,  "  is  like 

[301] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


walking  open-eyed  into  hell.  Mademoiselle,  we  cannot 
save  the  man.  We  but  throw  our  own  lives  away. 
'T  is  not  the  Indians  I  fear,  but  that  fur-trader ;  he  is 
the  devil's  own  imp." 

"  It  may  be  so,  yet  I  try,"  her  voice  firm  with  pur- 
pose. "  Under  Christ  I  can  do  no  less.  Lappin  dare 
not  lay  hand  on  you,  Monsieur  —  you,  an  officer  in  uni- 
form. However  he  may  hate  he  would  never  venture 
that.  I  fail  to  perceive  what  you  have  to  fear.  But 
I  am  going  —  going  now,  whether  you  come  with  me, 
or  stay  here." 

"  Lieutenant  Hayward  is  going  with  you,  Mademoi- 
selle," I  said  sternly.  "  He  is  man  enough  for  that,  I 
hope."  I  drew  him  about  so  I  could  look  squarely  into 
his  eyes.  "  This  is  no  boy's  play,  but  a  man's  work. 
We  are  of  the  same  race,  perchance,  however  long  ago 
the  family  line  divided.  I  care  nothing  for  that  now. 
The  man  bound  out  yonder,  condemned  to  the  stake,  is 
my  comrade.  Your  word  of  authority  can  save  him 
from  torture  and  death.  Go,  and  speak  it.  No  mat- 
ter what  your  excuse,  you  are  a  treacherous  coward; 
you  are  afraid.  Now  listen,  man !  You  have  far  more 
reason  to  fear  me  than  all  that  savage  crew ;  for  I  swear 
to  you  that  if  you  fail  this  woman  I  will  kill  you  where 
you  stand.  This  is  no  threat ;  these  are  no  idle  words. 
Now  go!" 

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The  Recognition 


"  Monsieur  —  " 

I  put  her  hand  aside,  thoroughly  aroused  by  the 
man's  reluctance. 

"  Not  now,  Rene ;  this  has  become  my  task.  He  will 
do  well  to  understand  all  I  mean.  Is  this  man  Lappin 
an  Englishman?  Come,  find  your  voice,  sir!  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Then  talk  to  him  in  English ;  I  wish  to  hear  all  you 
have  to  say.  No,  I  shall  not  remain  here ;  I  will  find  a 
place  where  I  can  see  everything;  where  you  cannot 
hide.  There  will  not  be  an  instant  when  my  rifle  does 
not  point  at  your  heart. —  Mademoiselle?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  If  this  man  speaks  a  word  of  treachery;  if  by  look 
or  gesture  he  attempts  to  play  us  false,  will  you  give  me 
a  sign  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Clasp  your  hands  like  this  about  your  head ;  it  will 
be  his  death  warrant.  Now,  sir,  are  you  ready?  " 

There  was  hate  in  his  eyes,  but  I  was  glad  of  it.  The 
very  intensity  with  which  he  hated  me  at  that  moment, 
had  brought  back  his  courage.  He  had  forgotten  all 
else  in  a  mad  desire  to  get  revenge  on  me.  I  let  him 
read  defiance,  scorn  in  my  own  face,  and  the  look  stung 
him  like  the  lash  of  a  whip. 

"Oh!  but  I'll  get  you  for  this.  Yes,  I'm  ready, 
[303] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


you  clod  of  a  Yankee  peasant !  but  you  '11  pay  before 
ever  you  get  out  of  these  woods  —  oh,  Lord!  you'll 
pay." 

I  half  thought  he  would  spring  at  me,  and  drew  back, 
my  rifle  lifted.  But  he  only  laughed,  his  lips  snarling, 
and  strode  past  crunching  his  way  through  the  thicket. 
I  caught  the  swift  upward  glance  of  the  girl's  eyes  —  a 
message  of  thanks,  ay !  more  —  and  she  had  followed 
him.  I  sprang  aside  amid  the  trunks  of  trees,  confident 
I  could  not  be  seen,  that  every  savage  eye  would  be 
riveted  upon  those  two  advancing  figures.  The  light 
afforded  me  sufficient  guidance,  and  I  possessed  some, 
idea  of  where  I  wished  to  go.  I  found  it  with  a  dozen 
quick  steps,  and,  even  as  the  first  wild  scream  of  dis- 
covery burst  from  the  red  throats,  I  crept  in  behind  a 
decaying  log,  at  the  ver}r  edge  of  the  opening,  and 
thrust  my  rifle  barrel  across  the  rotten  bark.  Deliber- 
ately, coolly,  with  full  determination  to  act,  I  drew 
bead  on  the  red  jacket. 

They  were  not  five  yards  away,  advancing  straight 
toward  the  startled  group  of  chiefs,  the  girl  slightly  in 
advance,  the  firelight  on  her  uplifted  face,  the  white 
crucifix  gleaming  in  her  hands.  The  Englishman,  a 
step  behind,  his  first  mad  anger  already  dying,  walked 
like  a  criminal,  with  lowered  head,  and  eyes  glancing 
furtively  aside.  Even  by  then  the  treacherous  coward- 

[304] 


The  Recognition 


ice  of  him  had  returned.  At  sight  of  his  face  I  cocked 
rny  weapon,  every  nerve  taut  as  a  bow-string,  breath- 
ing through  clinched  teeth.  I  cannot  say  that  I  saw 
much  of  what  occurred  in  that  first  moment  —  I  had  no 
eyes  but  for  the  red  jacket  —  and  yet  I  must  have  per- 
ceived it  all.  I  remember  now  the  whole  scene,  as  if  it 
hung  painted  before  me,  in  all  its  vivid  coloring  and 
rapid  movement.  I  saw  the  chiefs  start  up,  grasping 
their  weapons,  at  the  first  screech  of  alarm,  a  fierce 
intensity  in  their  eyes.  A  glance  at  those  two  unarmed 
figures,  and  they  stood  still,  gazing  at  them,  yet  with  a 
shadow  upon  the  dark,  scowling  faces  that  chilled  my 
blood.  The  yelling  ceased;  there  was  no  sound,  but 
the  pressing  forward  of  bodies,  and  the  crackle  of 
flames.  The  Shawnee  chief,  a  dark,  saturnine  face 
showing  under  his  war-bonnet,  stood  erect  with  folded 
arms.  Down  the  lane  of  warriors,  apparently  obliv- 
ious to  their  presence,  Mademoiselle  came,  the  English- 
man slouching  behind.  The  crowd  of  figures  hid  for  a 
moment  Brady  and  his  guard,  and  surged  in  between 
me  and  Lappin. 

There  was  silence;  I  could  hear  the  wind  in  the  tree 
tops,  the  restless  movements,  the  heavy  breathing  of 
the  excited  savages ;  somewhere  a  dog  barked.  Rene 
stopped,  her  hand  now  touching  the  soldier's  sleeve,  her 
eyes  on  the  dark,  savage  face  confronting  her.  A  mo- 

[305] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


ment  he  stared  at  her,  then  at  the  Englishman,  while  I 
held  my  breath. 

"  Why  you  —  here  —  'gain  ?  "  he  asked  in  halting 
English,  the  face  like  bronze.  "  I  —  send  you  —  to 
forest  —  why  come  —  back?  " 

"  Because  I  am  a  Wyandot,  and  a  Christian,"  she 
answered,  the  words  slow  and  distinct.  "  We  kill  war- 
riors in  battle,  not  by  torture,  Sis-e-te-wah.  I  come 
with  this  that  I  may  beg  your  prisoner's  life.  See;  it 
is  the  cross  of  the  Great  God." 

"  Huh !  "  he  grunted.  "  Why  should  we  listen  —  to 
a  —  squaw  ?  the  warriors  of  —  the  Shawnees  —  are 
men." 

"  So  are  the  Wyandots,  Sis-e-te-wah ;  they  are  as  the 
birds  of  the  air.  Once  they  came  to  the  villages  of  the 
Shawnees.  You  know  it  well  —  they  were  warriors, 
under  great  chiefs.  Yet  they  listen  to  words  of  wisdom 
from  a  squaw.  I  am  Running  Water;  I  have  sat  in 
the  councils  of  my  people ;  I  am  the  daughter  of  the 
White  Chief."  She  glanced  about  her  proudly,  look- 
ing into  the  ring  of  dark  faces.  "  I  am  a  squaw,  but 
I  am  a  Wyandot  —  no  Shawnee  dare  place  a  hand 
on  me." 

"  'T  is  so,"  he  answered  gravely.  "  I  know  —  but 
not  my  —  young  men.  It  best  you  go  —  I  speak  true 
—  the  white  man  will  die  —  it  has  been  decided  —  the 

[306] 


The  Recognition 


Shawnees  know  not  —  your  God  —  the  God  of  the  Long 
Robes  —  the  white  man  dies." 

**  But  he  came  in  peace,  not  war ;  he  was  a  messenger 
to  the  Wyandots." 

The  chief  had  stepped  back,  and  lifted  his  hand,  but 
now  he  stood  statue-like  before  her. 

"  He  great  hunter  —  he  warrior  —  we  have  —  met 
in  —  battle.  He  kill  warriors  —  my  tribe  —  now  he 
die  —  it  is  spoken.  Sis-e-te-wah  listen  —  no  more." 

"  But  you  must !  you  shall !  "  she  insisted.  "  'T  is 
not  the  Wyandots  alone  who  say  this.  You  may  refuse 
me;  you  may  disregard  the  cross  I  bear,  but  you  dare 
not  disobey  the  word  of  the  English  —  of  the  great  chief 
across  the  water.  If  you  will  not  heed  the  word  of  a 
squaw,  listen  to  this  man  —  a  warrior  of  the  Red 
Coats." 

"  I  know  him  not,"  coldly,  "  nor  care  what  he  — 
says.  He  nothing  —  to  Sis-e-te-wah  —  why  he  — 
come  here  ?  " 

"  To  stop  this  deed,  this  dastardly  outrage ;  he  speaks 
for  the  Great  Chief.  JT  is  best  the  Shawnees  listen. 
Now,  Monsieur." 

She  stepped  aside,  and  the  Englishman  stood  alone, 
facing  the  grim-faced  Shawnee.  The  very  desperation 
of  his  position  had  brought  to  him  courage;  he  knew 
enough  of  Indian  nature  to  be  aware  that  any  cringing 

[307] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


now  would  add  to  his  peril.  Ay,  he  knew  more,  that 
the  shadow  of  death  hung  over  him.  I  saw  him  glance 
aside,  sweeping  the  black  edge  of  the  forest,  as  though 
he  sought  to  locate  me;  then  he  straightened  up,  every 
nerve  taut,  a  soldier  of  England.  For  a  moment  I 
felt  a  thrill,  almost  of  pride,  as  unshrinking  before  the 
scowl  of  the  chief,  the  man  stared  back  into  the  unwink- 
ing eyes.  Yet  this  suddenly  assumed  boldness  of  front 
was  no  mystery;  these  savages  were  England's  allies; 
only  by  her  aid  was  war  possible  —  however  they  might 
bluster  and  threaten,  no  hostile  hand  dare  touch  him. 
This  he  knew,  realized  to  the  full.  Let  the  dark  faces 
scowl,  the  young  warriors  shake  their  tomahawks,  and 
scream  insult;  back  of  him  stood  power  and  authority. 
I  could  read  this  conviction  in  the  man's  face,  as  the 
firelight  played  upon  it.  In  calm  assurance  he  folded 
his  arms. 

"  You  say  you  know  not  who  I  am,  Sis-e-te-wah,"  he 
said  sharply.  "  Then  I  will  tell  you ;  you  and  your 
warriors.  I  am  an  officer  of  England,  an  aide  to  Ham- 
ilton. Will  you  hear  me  now  ?  " 

There  was  silence,  profound,  breathless ;  the  bold 
defiance  had  fallen  upon  them  like  a  blow.  Then,  before 
even  the  chief  could  answer,  the  crowding  ring  of  Indians 
was  broken,  and  into  the  circle  of  firelit  space  strode 
the  fur-trader,  his  mottled  face  purple,  his  mustache 

[308] 


The  Recognition 


bristling.  One  moment  he  glowered  into  the  soldier's 
face,  and  the  latter  stepped  back  recoiling  against  Ma- 
demoiselle, all  his  audacity  gone.  Lappin  laughed,  the 
cruel  echo  of  it  breaking  the  silence. 

"  A  soldier  of  England !  an  aide  to  Hamilton !  You 
lie.  When  Hamilton  knows  what  I  know  he  will  tear 
you  limb  from  limb.  You  come  here  to  frighten  us  with 
your  threats  —  you !  I  spit  upon  you !  Sis-e-te-wah, 
warriors,  hear  me;  you  know  who  I  am;  I  travel  with 
you  on  the  war-trail ;  I  go  with  you  into  battle.  Now 
I  speak  with  the  straight  tongue.  You  do  not  know  this 
man,  but  I  do.  See;  he  dare  not  face  me;  watch  him 
shrink  back  afraid.  Well!  there  is  reason." 

"  I  fear  you,  Jules  Lappin  ?  " 

"  Ay !  and  with  cause.  Knew  you  ever  the  time  I 
failed  to  pay  my  debts?  or  wreak  my  vengeance?  I 
have  you  now,  and  will  crush  the  white-livered  heart  out 
of  you  with  these  hands.  Listen,  Shawnees,  Miamis, 
Ojibwas,  while  I  tell  you  who  this  fellow  is.  Then  give 
him  to  me  —  I  ask  no  more." 

He  stopped,  bent  forward,  his  fingers  clinched.  Tne 
ring  of  Indians  pressed  closer,  but  the  old  chief  waved 
them  back,  standing  motionless. 

"  Speak,  Englishman,"  he  said  with  dignity,  "  we  will 
hear." 

Lappin  half  turned  to  face  them,  one  hand  gripping 
[309] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


the  knife  at  his  belt.  Like  a  white  ghost  Mademoiselle 
slipped  silently  in  between  the  two  men.  I  saw  it  all 
over  the  brown  barrel  of  my  rifle,  my  heart  throbbing 
fiercely. 

"  He  is  a  renegade,  a  traitor,"  and  Lappin's  hand 
pointed  at  the  man  he  accused,  "  the  uniform  he  wears 
a  lie.  How  do  I  know?  Because  he  fought  me  yonder 
in  the  woods  on  the  island ;  because  he  was  in  the  cabin 
with  the  others.  This  is  the  man  who  was  left  for  dead, 
who  escaped.  Do  you  recognize  him  now?  " 

I  saw  the  red  faces,  and  heard  the  scream  of  voices. 

"  Ay !  you  do ;  and  the  woman,  the  Wyandot  squaw, 
helped  him.  I  said  so  before ;  now  we  have  the  proof. 
You  drove  her  out,  afraid  to  treat  her  as  an  enemy,  and 
she  goes  to  him,  thinking  his  uniform  will  frighten  you 
into  sparing  the  hunter  from  torture.  She  brings  him 
here  to  threaten  you  with  what  England  will  do.  What 
say  you,  Shawnees,  to  the  dog !  " 

The  voices  burst  into  a  wild  yell  that  seemed  to  split 
the  night,  but  the  fur  trader  flung  up  his  hand. 

"  Back  all  of  yer !  "  he  roared  savagely.  "  I  claim 
this  man  as  mine!  Who  has  better  right?  I  '11  throttle 
the  life  out  of  him  with  my  bare  hands  before  yer  all. 
Have  your  warriors  give  us  space,  Sis-e-te-wah." 

The  chief  of  the  Shawnees,  his  eyes  blazing  under 
tangled  hair,  uplifted  his  arms. 

[310] 


The  Recognition 


"  'T  is  the  white  man's  right,"  he  ordered  grimly. 
"  I  have  spoken." 

I  drew  in  my  breath  sharply,  yet  what  could  I  do? 
The  rifle  trembled  in  my  grasp,  but  I  dare  not  use  it. 
The  unfortunate  Englishman  stood  in  my  place,  was 
mistaken  for  me,  but  if  I  revealed  myself  it  could  serve 
no  end  —  would  only  leave  me  helpless  to  aid  the  girl. 
I  could  not  think  of  him  at  that  moment,  but  only  of 
her.  What  would  be  her  fate  when  this  struggle  was 
over?  Maddened  by  the  fight  could  those  savages  be 
controlled?  Would  she  be  spared?  I  had  no  time  to 
think ;  my  blood  was  like  ice  —  I  could  only  look,  look 
at  that  hideous  spectacle,  reddened  by  flame,  as  my  lips 
muttered  a  prayer,  "  God  help  me  to  do  the  best 
thing!" 

It  was  all  the  work  of  an  instant.  Lappin  whirled  on 
his  victim,  flinging  his  gun  to  the  ground. 

"  Face  me,  you  cur,  you  spy !  "  he  shouted.  "  Come 
out  from  behind  that  squaw.  You  got  me  once  when 
my  foot  slipped.  Let's  see  what  you  can  do  now. 
What !  you  won't !  Well,  you  will !  " 

He  thrust  Rene  back,  hurling  her  with  one  sweep  of 
his  arm  into  the  crowding  ranks  of  warriors,  one  of 
whom  clutched  her  as  she  fell.  Then  he  struck  the 
shrinking,  startled  Englishman  a  vicious  blow  in  the 
face. 

[311] 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

IN   THE   HANDS   OF   SAVAGES 

T  SAW  the  red  welt  on  the  white  cheek  left  by  the  fur- 

trader's  rough  hand.  Hayward  staggered  back  from 
the  force  of  the  blow,  his  arms  flung  up,  a  sudden  pass- 
ing of  anger  darkening  his  eyes.  This  was  more  than 
flesh  and  blood  could  stand,  and  not  retaliate.  Wild 
rage  usurped  the  place  of  courage ;  his  lips  snarled  like 
a  cornered  wolf ;  he  had  forgotten  all  but  hate.  It  was 
not  a  man,  but  a  maddened  animal  who  crouched  for  a 
spring. 

"  Fight  you !  I  will !  Yes,  to  the  death,"  he  snapped 
out  hotly.  "  But  you  lie  when  you  say  I  fought  you 
before ;  when  you  say  I  was  in  the  cabin  —  you  lie,  you 
dog  of  a  white  savage  —  you  lie !  " 

"  Messieurs,  it  is  a  mistake,"  I  caught  the  girl's  pro- 
testing voice  in  the  hush.  "  It  was  not  —  " 

"  A  lie,  hey ! "  Lappin  broke  in  crazed  with  rage. 
"  What  am  I  —  blind !  I  saw  you,  you  hound,  with  my 
own  eyes.  Shut  the  squaw  up.  Oh !  you  will ;  then  have 
it  now !  " 

They  met  like  two  enraged  bucks  in  a  forest,  clutching 
at  each  other  in  blind,  deadly  battle.  They  were  big 

[313] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


men,  evenly  matched,  fired  with  hatred.  Perhaps  there 
was  an  old  score  to  be  wiped  out  in  blood ;  now  and  then 
some  word  sobbed  out  in  the  din  of  that  struggle  made 
me  think  so.  Be  that  as  it  may,  from  the  first  grip, 
the  first  blow,  they  were  beasts  not  men,  striking,  goug- 
ing, tearing  at  throat  and  face ;  using  feet,  or  hands,  or 
knees,  in  sheer  savagery.  Never  did  I  witness  such 
fighting,  such  mad  barbarism,  the  ferocity  of  which 
stopped  at  nothing.  The  soldier  I  knew  was  unarmed, 
but  a  knife  dangled  at  Lappin's  belt.  Either  he  forgot 
it,  or  in  his  rage  disdained  to  use  the  steel.  I  saw  the 
glitter  of  the  naked  blade  in  the  firelight,  as  the  two 
surged  back  and  forth,  gripped  in  each  other's  arms, 
their  muscles  strained  with  mighty  effort.  Oh !  how  they 
fought  —  like  two  cats,  snarling  and  snapping,  throt- 
tling each  other,  occasionally  an  arm  breaking  free  to 
send  a  clinched  fist  crashing  into  an  exposed  face.  Once 
the  soldier  went  down  to  his  knees,  and  Lappin  kicked 
him,  only  to  be  gripped  himself  and  flung  headlong. 
But  they  were  up  together,  bleeding  both,  panting  for 
breath,  clothes  half  ripped  off  their  bodies,  cursing 
fiercely,  as  they  rushed  at  each  other  once  more.  They 
were  silent  now  from  sheer  lack  of  wind,  desperate,  real- 
izing each  that  he  must  kill  or  be  killed.  There  was  no 
mercy  asked,  or  given.  Straining,  stumbling,  exerting 
<every  ounce  of  strength,  using  every  trick,  they  swung 

[314] 


In  the  Hands  of  Savages 


back  and  forth  across  the  open  firelit  space.     It  was. 
brutal,  devilish.    Ay !  and  so  were  those  who  watched. 

Merciful  Mother !  What  a  sight  that  was  !  I,  a  sol- 
dier, and  border-bred,  hid  my  face  in  my  arms  —  and 
yet  I  looked  and  saw.  The  very  ferocity  of  it  was  a 
fascinating  horror  —  the  black,  black  night  above, 
around ;  the  forests  shutting  them  in ;  the  howling  dogs 
snapping  at  their  heels ;  the  red  glare  of  fire,  and  that 
ring  of  yelping  savages,  dancing  back  and  forth  to  give 
the  combatants  room.  Rene  had  disappeared  —  forced 
back  into  the  half  crazed  mass,  as  the  savages  surged 
forward;  of  Brady  I  caught  no  glimpse.  That  was  no 
scene  to  ever  forget,  to  blot  out  with  passing  years. 
The  wild  savagery  of  it  burned  in  on  the  brain ;  those 
dark  faces,  with  wild  eyes  and  dangling  hair ;  the  wav- 
ing arms,  and  leaping  bodies,  the  gleam  of  weapons 
tossed  aloft,  the  jangle  and  din  of  excited  voices  in 
jargon  of  unknown  tongues.  How  the  red  flames  danced 
over  them  all,  now  in  shadow,  now  in  glare  of  light,  mak- 
ing them  appear  fiends  incarnate.  And  those  two  bat- 
tling in  the  midst,  huge  men  in  death  grapple,  fighting 
as  tigers  fight  —  remorseless,  merciless ;  tearing  each 
other's  flesh,  battering  each  other's  faces,  gripping, 
clutching,  straining  in  effort  at  mastery.  Again  and 
again  they  crunched  into  the  crowd,  reeling  from  blows, 
or  hurled  back  by  sheer  strength  of  muscle ;  they  sobbed 

[315] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


forth  curses,  staggering  with  weakness.  I  saw  Lappin 
drive  his  head  into  his  opponent's  stomach  as  though  it 
were  a  battering-ram;  I  saw  the  soldier  sink  his  teeth 
into  the  fur-trader's  hand,  as  if  he  were  a  mad  dog. 
T  was  then  the  brute  reached  down  and  fumbled  for  his 
knife  —  found  it,  and,  with  one  hoarse  cry  of  triumph, 
sent  the  bright  blade  home.  Twice  he  struck,  and  they 
went  staggering  down  together,  locked  in  each  other's 
arms,  the  soldier  dead  ere  he  struck  the  ground. 

It  was  bedlam  then,  followed  by  a  breathless  hush  as 
Sis-e-te-wah  pressed  forward  with  uplifted  arms.  Two 
warriors  lifted  Lappin  to  his  feet,  and,  as  his  gripping 
hand  plucked  out  the  knife  from  the  wound,  I  saw  the 
gush  of  blood  crimsoning  the  dead  man's  side.  An 
instant  the  victor  stood  staring  down,  reeling  in  weak- 
ness, upheld  by  others.  Then  he  laughed,  waving  the 
dripping  blade. 

"  Ah !  good !  "  he  cried.  "  There  is  one  more  recruit 
for  hell.  Bring  me  the  girl  here.  *T  is  time  she  had 
her  lesson  also." 

They  brought  her  forward,  a  red  brave  grasping 
either  arm.  I  caught  sight  of  her  face,  white,  drawn, 
but  not  with  fear,  and  sighted  my  rifle  across  the  log  at 
the  white  ruffian's  breast.  With  clinched  lips  I  lay, 
finger  to  trigger.  Yet  I  waited  —  thank  God,  I  waited. 
1  know  not  what  restrained  me,  only  it  t/as  no  fear  of 

[316] 


In  the  Hands  of  Savages 


consequences  to  myself.  It  must  hare  been  the  expres- 
sion of  the  woman's  uplifted  face,  the  quick  glance  she 
cast  about,  as  though  in  silent  warning  to  me.  I  took 
it  as  a  signal,  a  message  of  restraint.  The  fnr  trader, 
burly  and  brutal,  still  panting  for  breath,  yet  able  to 
stand  alone  now,  and  conscious  of  his  victory,  thrust 
his  reeking  knife  back  into  his  belt  with  a  coarse  laugh. 

"  How  do  you  like  that,  you  Wyandot  squaw  ?  "  he 
asked,  leering  down  into  her  face. 

"  When  you  have  these  men  release  my  arms  I  will 
answer  you,"  she  returned  quietly. 

"  Oh,  you  will,  hey !  You  '11  be  glad  enough  to 
talk  before  I  am  through.  Let  go  of  her  there  —  yes ; 
that 's  what  I  mean.  Now  look  here  —  there  lies  your 
English  officer.  He  's  paid  the  price  of  being  a  fooL 
Look  at  him ;  are  you  ready  to  speak  now  ?  " 

She  glanced  down  at  the  motionless  figure,  the  up- 
turned face,  white  even  with  the  red  flames  playing  over 
it;  she  even  took  a  step  nearer  that  she  might  see  more 
distinctly,  one  hand  shadowing  her  eyes.  Then  she 
straightened  up,  and  looked  into  Lappin's  blood-stained 
face. 

"  He  was  nothing  to  me,"  she  said  slowly,  "  nothing. 
But  he  fought  a  man's  fight,  and  was  killed  by  cowardly 
treachery." 

"  What !  You  squaw,  you  dare  —  " 
[817] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Of  course  I  dare.  Do  you  suppose  I  fear  you, 
Jules  Lappin,  or  your  gang  of  outlaws?"  her  voice 
scornful.  "  Why,  I  challenge  you  to  lay  hand  on  me. 
You  know  who  I  am;  you  have  eaten  in  the  tepee  of 
my  father.  I  know  who  you  are,  and  I  despise  you. 
You  call  me  a  Wyandot  squaw;  threaten  what  you  will 
do;  point  me  to  this  dead  man  whom  you  have  mur- 
dered. Why?  to  frighten  me  —  me?  Very  well,  I'll 
answer  you.  I  am  a  Wyandot ;  I  am  Running  Water ; 
but  in  my  veins  flows  also  the  best  blood  of  France. 
Mine  is  not  a  race  of  cowards  and  murderers,  thieves 
and  traders ;  my  ancestors  were  soldiers  and  men.  And 
you  think  I  am  afraid  of  you  —  you  cur  of  the  woods ; 
afraid  of  you !  Touch  me,  Jules  Lappin,  if  you  dare ; 
I  challenge  you.  Come,  I  wait  for  you  to  lay  hand 
on  me." 

He  stared  at  her  sullenly,  angry  enough,  yet  with  the 
bullying  look  gone  from  his  mottled  face.  Something 
about  the  girl  —  her  sharp  words,  her  cool  defiance  — 
had  left  him  uncertain. 

"  More  than  that,  Jules  Lappin,"  she  went  on  pas- 
sionately, "  you  are  going  to  pay  for  all  this,"  and  she 
pointed  down  at  the  dead  body,  "  pay  for  it,  do  you 
understand !  That  man  was  what  he  claimed  to  be  — 
an  aide  to  Hamilton.  England  pays  her  debts,  Mon- 
sieur Lappin.  Ay,  and  so  do  the  Wyandots ;  have  you 

[318] 


forgotten  that  so  soon?  Have  you  forgotten  what  befell 
the  Frenchman,  Phillipe  Bridau?  Have  you  blotted 
from  memory  already  the  fate  of  Michael  Cozad?  You 
were  in  our  village  when  the  chiefs  of  the  Wyandots. 
dealt  out  justice  to  these  renegades.  Answer  me! " 

He  did  not,  yet  he  drew  a  step  back,  and  swept  his 
hand  over  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  you  do  remember,  and  it  is  not  so  pleasant  to 
recall.  Well,  you  have  threatened  me;  you  have  had 
these  Indians  hold  me  prisoner;  you  have  killed  my 
companion,  with  whom  I  came  to  you  on  a  mission  of 
peace.  Do  you  expect  the  Wyandots  to  forgive,  or  to 
forget?  They  are  on  this  trail  tonight,  marching  to 
join  the  tribes  in  war  —  you  told  me  that  but  a  few 
hours  ago.  They  are  out  yonder  in  the  dark ;  they  will 
pass  by  here.  Do  you  think,  Monsieur  Lappin,  there  is 
a  covert  of  the  forest  that  will  hide  you?  Do  you 
imagine  this  rabble  of  savage  outcasts  can  protect  you 
from  the  vengeance  of  the  Wyandots  ?  It  is  not  for  me 
to  beg  for  mercy ;  you  had  better  ask  it  at  my  hands." 

The  cool  boldness  of  her  words  stunned  the  fellow. 
I  could  see  him  glance  about  into  the  dark  woods,  and 
then  at  the  faces  of  the  savages  pressing  about  them. 
Few  among  them  understood  what  was  said,  and  their 
gestures,  the  fierce  expression  of  their  eyes,  gave  the 
renegade  courage.  He  had  already  gone  too  far  for 
[319] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


^retreat ;  his  only  chance  now  was  to  proceed  —  to  brow- 
beat this  girl,  frighten  her,  and  trust  to  the  wilderness 
for  a  hiding  place.  The  Wyandots  were  not  coming 
this  way ;  he  knew  that  much,  and  he  felt  his  nerve  come 
back  at  the  remembratoce  —  they  were  bound  south  to 
the  Maumee;  their  route  would  lie  miles  to  the  west- 
ward, beyond  the  lake.  Ay,  he  was  safe  enough.  And 
this  chit  of  a  girl  had  tried  to  bluff  him,  to  make  him 
cringe  before  these  Indians.  Hot  anger  flamed  up  in 
his  heart.  He  had  the  power,  and  he  would  use  it.  As 
to  the  future,  the  world  was  wide ! 

I  imagined  I  saw  all  this  written  on  his  face,  in  the 
stiffening  of  his  body,  in  the  look  he  cast  at  Sis-e-te-wah, 
and  those  warriors  hemming  him  about.  He  was  now 
Armed  with  anger,  his  back  to  the  wall ;  he  would  fight, 
not  run !  Bah !  what  was  there  to  run  from  —  the  raving 
of  a  squaw !  Yet,  even  then  his  hand  shook,  as  he  waved 
it  before  him. 

"  Stand  aside,  all  of  yer ;  get  back  and  give  us  room, 
jrer  red  scum ! "  he  roared,  his  rage  increasing  as  he 
.gave  it  vent  in  words.  "  Well,  I  've  heard  yer  talk,  all 
of  it,  you  breed,  an'  that 's  what  I  care  for  your 
threats,"  and  he  snapped  his  fingers  in  her  face.  As 
she  stood  silent,  motionless,  looking  straight  at  him 
with  scorn  unutterable  in  her  eyes,  the  brute  clinched 
Hs  red  fist,  stepping  forward  as  if  he  would  strike. 

[320] 


In  the  Hands  of  Savages 


"  Curse  yer !  I  'm  a  mind  to  let  yer  have  some  of  the 
same  medicine  I  gave  him.  You  '11  laugh  at  Jules  Lap- 
pin,  will  yer  ?  Oh,  ho !  but  I  know  a  better  way  than  that 
to  make  yer  cry.  By  all  the  gods,  we  '11  roast  that 
Yankee  friend  of  yours  to  a  turn,  and  you  '11  stand  by 
and  watch.  That  '11  fetch  the  two  of  yer  to  yer  senses. 
Here,  Shawnees,  two  of  yer  come  here.  Pick  up  this 
carrion,  and  throw  it  out  of  the  way,  over  there  in  the 
edge  of  the  wood.  We  '11  want  this  space  presently. 
Sis-e-te-wah  ?  " 

"  The  chief  is  here,"  with  dignity. 

"  'T  was  your  vote  that  the  hunter  die  by  torture?  " 

"  It  was  so  spoken." 

"  Then  he  shall  —  to  spite  this  squaw  of  a  Wyandot, 
if  for  no  better  reason.  Bid  your  warriors  tie  the 
dog  up." 

For  the  moment,  in  the  confusion,  the  noise  and  rush- 
ing back  and  forth  of  figures  dimly  seen  in  the  red  light, 
I  lost  sense  of  what  was  being  done.  There  was  a  babel 
of  yells,  a  wild  mingling  of  half-naked  forms  dancing 
about  through  the  shadows.  Those  whose  identity  I 
could  comprehend  had  been  swallowed  up  by  the  rush 
of  bodies.  Occasionally  Lappin's  voice  sounded  above 
the  din,  as  he  cursed  out  some  order.  Then,  forth  from 
the  surging,  excited  mass  of  savages,  two  braves  came 
directly  toward  where  I  lay  concealed,  staggering  under 

[321  ] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


the  weight  of  Hayward's  dead  body.  I  drew  back  my 
rifle,  sinking  lower  behind  the  rotten  log.  The  weight 
of  the  dead  man  caused  them  to  shuffle  forward,  grunt- 
ing to  each  other,  glad  enough  to  be  rid  of  the  burden. 
In  the  first  dark  shadow  they  let  go,  flinging  him  down 
against  the  very  log  behind  which  I  lay,  holding  my 
breath  in  fear.  The  one  turned  back,  uttering  a  gut- 
tural exclamation  of  relief,  but  the  other  paused,  grip- 
ping the  soldier's  hair.  Then  he  also  straightened  up, 
and  ran  back  into  the  open,  giving  sudden  utterance  to 
a  wild  yell.  I  peered  across  the  log  to  see  him  dancing 
in  the  firelight,  waving  a  bleeding  scalp  in  the  air. 

Even  as  I  gazed  with  eyes  of  horror,  my  mind  a 
chaos,  every  nerve  throbbing  in  physical  pain,  there 
came  to  me  the  one  hope,  the  one  chance  for  me  to  meet 
alone  the  situation. 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  GHOST   OF  THE   LIEUTENANT 

r  |  iHE  thought  startled,  actually  frightened  me.  I  had 
no  conception  as  to  where  it  originated,  what 
strange  conjunction  of  ideas,  but  it  came  into  mind 
full  born,  every  detail  clear,  as  if  sent  direct  from  God. 
I  felt  that  I  must  try  it,  that  it  was  a  command.  Im- 
possible, impractical  as  it  seemed  at  first  —  a  wild, 
crazy  dream  —  yet,  as  I  thought  upon  it  swiftly,  realiz- 
ing the  impotency  of  delay,  it  assumed  new  power.  Ay ! 
its  very  audacity  made  it  possible  of  success.  And  what 
else  could  I  hope  to  do?  To  attack  that  band  of  red 
demons  alone  would  be  suicide ;  would  only  condemn  me 
to  the  same  fate  which  Brady  faced.  It  would  neither 
serve  the  hunter  nor  the  girl ;  it  would  indeed  be  the  last 
resort  of  a  madman.  Nor  could  I  flee,  a  self-confessed 
coward,  to  seek  my  own  safety  in  the  woods,  leaving  them 
to  their  fate.  Yet  here  was  a  chance  to  aid  them,  an  op- 
portunity to  overcome  numbers  through  superstitious 
fear,  to  smite  those  savages  with  terror.  It  seemed  the 
emanation  of  a  crazed  brain  —  but  it  was  not.  There 
was  reason  back  of  it,  and  a  knowledge  of  Indian  nature. 
They  would  never  stop  to  think,  to  reason,  to  consider ; 

[323] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


they  would  be  struck  by  terror,  by  the  ghosts  of  their 
own  consciences  —  even  the  white  leader  —  left  with 
no  thought  but  for  escape  from  the  awful  thing.  I  knew 
all  this  instantly  —  it  leaped  into  my  brain  with  sudden 
remembrance  of  my  strange  resemblance  to  that  dead 
man,  lying  almost  within  reach  of  my  arm.  If  he  only 
could  be  made  to  appear  again,  stalking  forth,  from 
those  shadows  where  he  had  been  thrown  into  the  glare  of 
fire,  a  ghastly  semblance  plucked  from  the  grave,  it 
would  be  a  sight  to  chill  the  blood,  to  send  those  mur- 
derers shrieking  in  flight  into  the  black  forest.  And  it 
could  be  done,  it  could  be  done ! 

I  laughed  at  the  simplicity  of  the  scheme,  yet  it  was  a 
grim,  quiet  laugh,  tinged  with  bitterness.  It  seemed  to 
come  from  other  lips  than  mine ;  to  be  a  faint  echo.  If 
it  failed  —  what  then?  Well,  it  was  only  death,  and 
that  would  be  sweeter  than  living,  if  I  fled,  a  coward  in 
the  night.  In  Heaven's  name  I  would  try  the  trick;  I 
felt  in  my  heart  I  had  the  courage.  With  eyes  on  those 
figures  blotting  out  the  fire,  their  discordant  yelling 
deadening  all  other  sound,  their  whole  attention  cen- 
tered now  on  savage  vengeance,  I  crept  over  the  log, 
and  crouched  low  beside  the  motionless  body.  Ugh !  but 
I  dreaded  to  touch  it,  to  feel  the  awfulness  of  clammy 
flesh.  As  the  upturned  face,  with  staring  dead  eyes, 
revealed  indistinctly  by  the  red  glimmer,  met  my  gaze, 

[324] 


The  Ghost  of  the  Lieutenant 


it  was  like  looking  into  my  own.  For  an  instant  it  seemed 
as  if  I  stared  down  at  myself,  bent  above  my  own  insen- 
sate body.  A  shudder  ran  through  me,  my  hands  shak- 
ing as  with  palsy.  Yet  I  rallied,  crushing  back  the 
benumbing  horror  of  that  vision,  as  the  hateful  voice  of 
Lappin  rose  above  the  din: 

"Ay!  hold  her  there!  Afraid  of  the  cross?  Well, 
I  am  not.  Here,  I  '11  show  you  how  to  deal  with  squawg. 
Now  get  the  dry  wood  —  there  '11  be  some  sweet  singing 
presently.  Oh,  you  'd  like  to  get  your  hands  on  me, 
wouldn't  you,  Brady?  Not  this  time,  my  boy.  Hurry 
up,  there !  let 's  see  the  Yankee  dance !  " 

My  hand  no  longer  trembled;  the  grip  of  my  fingers 
was  like  steel.  The  dead  man  no  longer  appalled;  he 
was  but  a  corpse  of  whom  I  had  use  to  save  the  living. 
Recklessly  I  stripped  the  red  jacket  from  the  body, 
ripped  in  the  struggle  with  Lappin,  and  showing  clearly 
the  rent  made  by  the  knife,  and  crawled  back  over  the 
log,  to  put  it  on.  Beyond  my  cover,  not  a  dozen  feet 
away,  was  a  shallow  ravine,  and  the  light  streaming 
through  tree  branches,  fell  upon  a  clay  bank,  gleaming 
a  yellowish  white.  I  reached  it  on  hands  and  knees, 
streaking  my  face  with  moist  clay,  until  it  must  have 
been  ghastly,  and  plastering  even  more  on  my  hair  in 
horrible  representation  of  the  scalped  victim. 

Still  unsatisfied,  yet  knowing  of  nothing  else  I  could 
[325] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


add,  and  warned  by  the  shouts  that  I  must  act  without 
delay,  I  stole  forward  to  the  edge  of  the  wood,  pausing 
there  a  moment  to  muster  my  courage,  and  take  one 
last  glance  at  the  scene  revealed  by  the  firelight.  All 
the  center  of  the  opening  seemed  alive  with  Indians 
crowding  forward  about  the  prisoner,  who  stood  bound 
to  a  stump,  facing  me.  Other  savages  were  running 
swiftly  back  and  forth  bearing  armsful  of  dried  wood, 
which  were  cast  down  at  Brady's  feet,  the  mass  already 
rising  above  his  knees.  Excitement  was  evidenced  in 
shouts,  and  wild  cries,  in  frenzied  leaping,  dancing,  and 
mad  gesticulation.  The  Shawnee  chief  stood  silent,  with 
folded  arms,  but  burning  eyes,  while  Lappin  grasped 
Mademoiselle's  shoulder,  holding  her  to  place  in  the 
front  rank  of  those  red  demons,  his  voice  shouting  forth 
orders,  or  taunting  the  motionless  hunter,  who  made  no 
reply.  Rene  was  upon  her  knees,  her  face  hidden,  but  I 
could  see  the  white  gleam  of  the  crucifix  as  she  held  it 
forth  in  the  glow  of  light.  Brady's  face  was  not  toward 
me,  nor  revealed  clearly  by  the  fire,  yet  he  held  his  head 
«rect,  his  eyes  roving  over  the  devilish  faces.  The 
wounded  jaw  was  bound  about  with  a  strip  of  bloody 
rag.  Without  speaking,  it  yet  seemed  to  me  he  mocked 
them.  Once  he  twisted  in  his  bonds,  and  gazed  at  her 
as  if  he  would  utter  some  word,  but  changed  his  mind, 
and,  for  the  first  time,  a  look  of  pain  swept  into  his  face. 

[326] 


BRADY  HELD  HIS  HEAD  ERECT,   HIS  EYES  ROVING  OVER  THE  DEVILISH   FACES. 

Page  326. 


The  Ghost  of  the  Lieutenant 


Lappin  saw  the  effort,  called  out  some  foul  insult,  and  a 
warrior  sprang  forward,  striking  the  defenseless  man 
across  the  lips,  and  driving  his  head  back  against  the 
stump. 

The  vicious  act  drove  me  mad,  and  I  stepped  forth 
into  the  open,  flinging  my  gun  down  in  the  underbrush. 
No  eye  in  all  that  swarm  was  turned  my  way.  In  silence 
I  moved  forward  until  I  was  within  a  few  yards  of  the 
struggling  mass.  Then  I  stopped,  full  in  the  red  glare 
of  fire,  my  arms  uplifted,  and  gave  utterance  to  a  deep, 
sepulchral  groan.  God  alone  knows  how  awful  was  the 
apparition.  To  them,  in  startled  horror,  I  was  the  dead 
man,  standing  there  with  ghastly  face,  and  arms  out- 
stretched, my  appearance  rendered  more  terrible  by  the 
fitful  gleam  of  fire,  revealing  features  and  form,  glow- 
ing on  torn  red  jacket,  and  head  slashed  by  scalping 
knife,  behind  me  the  night  and  the  black  woods.  No 
doubt  it  was  a  sight  to  bring  fear  to  any  heart,  but  to 
those  murderers,  their  minds  poisoned  by  superstition, 
it  brought  panic  —  a  terror  too  terrible  to  resist.  They 
knew  me  in  the  instant ;  I  was  the  spirit  of  the  dead ;  I 
had  come  back  for  vengeance ;  with  clammy  hands  I  was 
clutching  for  them;  with  sightless  eyes  I  was  seeking 
them  out.  There  was  one  yell,  breathing  forth  the 
terror  of  their  souls ;  I  saw  eyes,  wild  with  horror,  star- 
ing at  me;  I  saw  men  run  and  fall,  scramble  to  their 

[327] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


feet,  and  run  again ;  I  saw  leaping  bodies  fight  like  fiends 
in  an  effort  to  get  free.  Sis-e-te-wah,  struck  by  the 
rush,  shrieked  like  a  woman,  stared  toward  me  from 
where  he  lay  on  the  ground,  found  his  feet  and  ran.  I 
caught  glimpse  of  Rene's  face  uplifted,  the  cross  still 
before  her  eyes ;  of  Lappin,  hurled  over  by  the  rush, 
trampled  into  the  earth  by  flying  feet,  finally  regain  his 
knees,  his  face  white  as  death,  as  he  stared  back  toward 
me  with  protruding  eyes. 

Again  I  groaned,  the  unearthly  sound  rising  even 
above  the  din,  seemingly  echoed  by  the  great  forest  and 
flung  back  to  earth  again  by  the  black  curtain  over- 
head. Ay !  it  was  an  eery  sound !  It  even  made  my  own 
flesh  creep.  Crazed  by  the  terror  of  it,  panic-stricken 
by  the  fears  of  others,  the  fur  trader  leaped  to  his  feet, 
flung  forward  his  rifle  and  fired.  The  ball  sang  past 
my  ear,  and  I  walked  straight  toward  him,  my  ghastly 
face  exposed  to  the  fire,  my  hands  reaching  out  in  blind 
clutching.  With  one  yell,  piercing,  the  yelp  of  a  fright- 
ened wolf,  he  turned  and  dashed  for  the  woods,  staring 
back  over  his  shoulder  even  as  he  crashed  headlong  into 
the  underbrush.  For  fear  they  might  pause  when  once 
under  cover  —  the  first  spasm  of  terror  gone  —  I  ran 
forward  to  the  forest  edge,  giving  utterance  to  another 
groan  to  spur  them  on.  But  this  was  not  needed  — 
terror,  awful  terror  had  struck  into  their  very  souls. 

[328] 


The  Ghost  of  the  Lieutenant 


Not  one  doubted  the  evidence  of  his  own  eyes ;  they  had 
seen  the  dead  walk;  their  murdered  and  scalped  victim 
rise  again  in  ghost-like  semblance,  and  they  thought  of 
nothing  but  escape  —  to  get  beyond  the  reach  of  those 
hands,  the  gaze  of  those  accusing  eyes.  They  were  mad 
with  the  ghastly  horror.  I  could  hear  the  fleeing  bodies 
crash  blindly  into  the  underbrush,  the  discordant  cries 
dying  in  the  distance,  the  occasional  thud  as  some  fright- 
ened savage  struck  against  a  tree  in  the  dark,  or  fell 
sprawling  to  the  ground. 

It  was  all  over  with  so  quickly  I  could  scarcely  realize 
what  had  actually  occurred.  I  stood  there  myself 
stunned,  and  witless,  gazing  into  the  black  woods,  as  if 
I  had  lost  my  mind.  I  knew  I  had  won ;  that  my  plan 
had  worked  even  better  than  my  dream;  that  we  were 
alone,  unguarded,  the  savages  gone.  I  knew  this,  and 
jet  my  mind,  dazed,  excited,  failed  to  grasp  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  fact.  I  stood  grasping  a  tree,  listening  to 
the  sounds  that  came  fainter  and  fainter  from  the  forest, 
gasping  for  breath.  A  tear  stole  down  my  cheek,  and  I 
swept  it  away,  angry  at  this  evidence  of  weakness. 
Then  I  laughed  and  swore,  my  nerves  dancing  like  so 
many  demons.  They  were  gone  —  gone !  those  merci- 
less red  devils,  those  accursed  murderers,  those  fiends  in 
human  guise.  Nor  was  it  likely  they  would  stop  in  their 
mad  flight  until  they  dropped  from  sheer  exhaustion,  or 

[329] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


the  dawn  of  another  day  brought  with  it  fresh  courage. 
In  the  dark  woods  every  gloomy  tree  would  be  a  new 
apparition,  every  gleam  of  star-light  through  the 
branches  a  menacing  ghost.  The  wind  in  the  leaves,  the 
skurrying  of  wild  animals  in  the  thicket,  would  send 
them  on,  shrieking  and  panic-stricken,  pursued  by  that 
ghastly  thing  with  whitened  face  and  clammy,  out- 
stretched hands. 

And  those  others,  who  were  yet  there  —  Brady,  tied 
still  to  the  stake,  the  flames  already  licking  the  fagots  at 
his  feet,  and  Mademoiselle  praying  to  the  Virgin  — 
what  would  they  think?  Would  they  know,  understand, 
what  had  really  occurred?  or  had  the  terrible  spectacle 
left  them  also  in  benumbed  terror?  The  thought  awoke 
me  as  from  a  stupor,  and  I  turned  ab(5ut.  The  opening 
in  the  forest  was  bright  as  day,  for  while  the  first  red 
fire  was  dying  down  from  lack  of  fuel,  the  dry  wood 
encircling  the  old  hunter  was  leaping  into  flame.  In  the 
glare  I  saw  his  face  clear-cut  as  a  cameo,  and  the  girl 
now  on  her  feet,  yet  with  eyes  turned  on  me.  Two 
Indian  bodies  lay  outstretched  on  the  ground  between  us, 
killed  and  trampled  under  foot  by  the  frenzied  warriors 
in  their  first  terror;  everywhere  was  a  litter  of  dis- 
carded weapons,  flung  aside  in  flight,  and  many  a  war- 
bonnet  kicked  into  shapelessness  under  the  feet  of  the 
fleeing.  The  ground  was  a  jumble  of  things,  as  if  I 

[330] 


The  Ghost  of  the  Lieutenant 


looked  upon  a  battle  field,  yet  this  was  not  what  I  really 
saw  in  that  first  swift  glance.  A  man  —  a  white  man  — 
ran  leaping  across  the  flame-lit  opening,  kicking  aside 
the  blazing  fagots  of  wood  already  scorching  Brady, 
hurling  them  to  right  and  left  in  frantic  haste,  until  he 
made  passage  through.  I  caught  the  glimmer  of  a  knife 
in  his  hand;  and  then,  by  main  strength,  he  dragged 
the  weakened  prisoner  clear  of  the  burning  wood,  and 
dropped  him  exhausted  on  the  ground.  As  the  fellow 
stood  erect,  staring  about  him,  at  the  helpless  huddle  at 
his  feet,  at  the  white  face  of  the  girl,  at  the  debris  on 
every  side,  I  recognized  Simon  Girty. 

"  Saints  alive !  What  does  all  this  mean  ?  "  he  cried, 
grabbing  up  the  gun  dropped  in  his  first  swift  effort  at 
rescue.  "  You  *  Running  Water  ' ;  ay !  and  this  is  the 
Kentuckian  who  would  have  killed  me.  What  Js  hap- 
pened here?  It  looks  like  a  shambles.  Never  before 
did  I  see  a  man  burning  himself.  Who  killed  these  — 
merciful  God !  what  is  that  ?  " 

His  voice  rose  into  a  shriek  as  he  stared  at  me,  while 
I  advanced  toward  him.  With  one  terrorized  leap  he 
sprang  back,  throwing  up  his  rifle,  but  with  hands  shak- 
ing so,  that  I  laughed  outright.  The  sound  coming 
unexpectedly  from  such  ghastly  lips  must  have  been 
more  horrible  than  a  groan,  for  the  frightened  man 
dashed  his  weapon  to  the  ground,  and  turned  to  run. 

[331] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


His  foot  struck  Brady's  body  and  he  went  down,  scram- 
bling to  his  knees.  I  saw  the  old  scout's  head  uplifted, 
the  trembling  girl  bury  her  face  in  her  hands,  as  if  to 
shut  out  the  sight. 

"  Do  n't  run ;  there  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of ! "  I 
cried  hastily,  stopping  still  in  my  tracks  to  better  reas- 
sure them.  "  I  am  no  ghost,  but  a  friend.  Hear  me, 
Mademoiselle ! " 


[  832  ] 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THROUGH    THE   BLACK   NIGHT 

HE  dropped  her  hands  from  before  her  eyes,  and, 
holding  out  the  white  cross  gleaming  in  the  fire- 
light, came  slowly  forward.  There  was  doubt  and 
terror  in  the  fair,  uplifted  face,  but  likewise  a  glow  of 
hope  and  confidence.  I  waited  silent  as  she  came,  noting 
every  swift  change  of  expression.  A  yard  from  me  she 
stopped,  hesitating,  not  even  yet  thoroughly  convinced 
of  my  identity. 

"  Is  —  is  it  really  you,  Joseph  Hay  ward  ?  "  her  lips 
faltered.  "  Tell  me,  I  beg  you,  for  —  for  I  was  never  so 
frightened  in  my  life." 

"  There  is  nothing  for  you  to  fear,  Mademoiselle,"  I 
«aid  quickly,  regretful  enough  to  have  startled  her  so. 
"  I  am  Joseph  Hayward,  the  American.  'T  was  but  to 
save  you  I  played  this  part." 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  sobbing  hysterically, 
her  slender  form  trembling. 

"  Oh,  I  am  glad  —  glad !  "  she  managed  to  whisper. 
*'  I  —  I  am  not  superstitious,  not  weak ;  but  this  was  so 
real,  so  dreadful,  that  all  thought  left  me.  Oh,  how 
•could  you,  how  could  you  do  that  ?  " 

[333] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  It  was  all  that  was  left  for  me  to  do,"  I  explained, 
my  heart  throbbing,  as  I  drew  her  hands  from  before  her 
face,  and  looked  into  her  eyes.  "  You  must  not  blame 
me,  Mademoiselle.  I  could  not  fight  alone  against  them 
all.  I  was  crazed  with  despair  when  I  first  thought  of 
this.  It  was  as  though  God  inspired  me  to  the  attempt. 
Mad  as  it  was,  I  had  to  try  it;  something  seemed  to 
impel  me.  But  I  thought  you  would  know,  would 
understand  —  " 

"  I  did  not ;  it  never  once  occurred  to  me  —  the  — 
wonderful  resemblance.  Oh!  you  cannot  comprehend 
how  terrible  you  appeared  when  I  first  saw  you,  Mon- 
sieur —  there,  with  the  horrid  red  glare  on  your  face ; 
you  had  the  look  of  death,  of  a  corpse  walking.  I  —  I 
will  never  blot  it  out  of  memory ;  it  will  haunt  me  while 
I  live.  I  tremble  still  like  a  leaf,  even  though  I  feel  your 
hands  upon  me." 

My  eyes  looking  beyond  her  saw  Girty  on  his  knees, 
reaching  for  his  rifle  in  the  dirt.  Then  he  arose  to  his 
feet,  his  face  showing  hard  and  ugly  in  the  firelight. 

"  What 's  all  this  mad  play  about ! "  he  ej  aculated 
roughly.  "  Come  now,  speak  up  thar,  or  I  '11  try  what 
lead  kin  do.  Are  ye  ghost,  er  man  ?  Burn  me  if  I  'm 
afraid  o*  either !  '* 

"  Your  courage  has  been  tested,"  I  returned  in  humor. 
"  But  you  might  as  well  lower  the  gun,  Girty.  There  is 

[334] 


Through  the  Black  Night 


no  occasion  to  shoot  at  me."  I  stepped  out  into  fuller 
view.  "  Do  you  know  me  now  ?  " 

He  stared,  uncertain,  into  my  clay-streaked  face,  his 
eyes  narrowed  into  mere  slits. 

"  Maybe  I  do,  an'  maybe  I  do  n't,"  he  admitted  at  last 
obstinately.  "  Yer  're  like  the  lad  who  guided  me  into 
Harmar,  but  yer  a  sight  for  all  that.  If  yez  had  yer 
face  washed,  an'  more  hair  showin'  I  could  judge  better. 
What's  all  this  play-actin'  about  anyhow?  though 
't  was  n't  much  play  in  it  for  him,  I  reckon,"  pointing 
to  Brady,  "  when  I  got  here.  A  minute  more,  an'  the 
man  would  have  been  sheeted  in  flame." 

I  glanced  at  the  old  hunter,  now  raised  upon  his 
elbow.  He  seemed  to  be  endeavoring  to  speak,  but  the 
wounded  jaw,  tightly  bound  by  a  cloth,  prevented.  The 
rough  treatment  he  had  received  was  plainly  in  evidence, 
his  face  bruised  and  blackened  from  blows,  a  great  welt 
across  one  cheek  from  which  blood  oozed,  his  right  ear 
slit,  his  leather  jerkin  slashed  almost  into  ribbons,  the 
moccasins  charred  on  his  feet,  his  small  clothes  smoul- 
dering yet,  where  Girty  had  beaten  out  the  flames  with 
his  bare  hands.  Yet  bad  as  he  looked,  the  old,  indom- 
itable spirit  shone  in  the  blue,  steadfast  eyes.  With  an 
effort  he  sat  up,  supporting  himself  painfully  with 
hands  blackened  by  fire,  yet  before  I  could  speak,  Made- 
moiselle came  between  us  and  knelt  beside  him,  her  gentle 

[335] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


fingers  smoothing  his  gray  hair,  her  voice  speaking 
words  I  could  not  catch.  Indeed,  Girty,  in  his  impa- 
tience, gave  no  opportunity. 

"  Well,  yer  ghost,"  he  blustered.  "  Give  me  the 
straight  of  this." 

I  stepped  toward  him,  amused  to  see  the  man  shrink 
back,  half  startled  still  at  my  weird  decoration,  and 
dropped  a  hand  heavily  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Does  that  feel  like  the  grip  of  a  phantom,  you 
fool  ?  "  I  asked  sharply.  "  If  it  does  I  '11  shut  down 
tighter  still  for  your  benefit.  My  tale  can  wait  its  telling 
until  we  be  well  out  of  here.  There  will  be  time  enough 
then  to  satisfy  your  curiosity.  Those  fellows  may  get 
over  their  fright  and  come  back." 

"What  fellows?" 

"  A  mixed  band  of  Miamis,  Ojibwas,  and  Shawnees  — 
mostly  Shawnees  with  a  chief  named  Sis-e-te-wah !  " 

"  Huh!  so  it  was  those  devils?  The  same  gang  I  left 
at  the  foot  of  the  island.  But  there  were  no  Shawnees 
with  them  then.  Sis-e-te-wah,  did  you  say?  I  know 
the  rascal,  but  never  before  did  I  hear  of  him  being  bold 
enough  for  such  a  deed.  What  stirred  him  to  it?  " 

"  There  was  a  white  man  with  them." 

"  Ah !  now  we  have  the  truth  —  a  red-coat  ?  "  and  his 
eyes  were  on  my  jacket. 

"  He  wore  one  —  stolen  no  doubt  —  but  was  no  sol- 
[3S6] 


Through  the  Black  Night 


dier.  Mademoiselle  knew  the  man,  a  ruffian  called  Jules 
Lappin." 

He  gazed  into  my  face  a  minute  and  laughed,  slapping 
his  knee  in  sudden  merriment. 

"  Lord !  but  that 's  a  good  one,  boy !  By  all  the  gods 
I  must  tell  it  to  Hamilton.  He  '11  split  his  sides.  And 
yer  actually  played  ghost  for  Jules  Lappin,  and  sent 
that  hell  hound  running!  By  my  faith,  I  hope  he  never 
comes  back.  Do  I  know  him  ?  It  was  my  knife  that  put 
the  red  slash  in  his  cheek.  There  is  no  deviltry  but  he 
might  be  up  to.  An',  Lord,  love  me,  yer  played  ghost 
fer  him!" 

He  laughed  again,  the  odd  sound  echoing  through 
the  night,  and  causing  Mademoiselle  to  turn  and  look 
at  us. 

"  Is  he  one  to  get  over  his  scare,  and  come  back  ?  "  I 
asked,  scanning  the  forest  apprehensively.  Girty's  face 
sobered,  the  loud  laugh  dying  into  a  cackle. 

"  I  judge  't  is  like  enough ;  the  dog  is  no  coward,  but 
he  '11  have  a  job  gatherin'  up  the  red-skins.  By  the 
Lord  Harry!  'twas  a  fine  joke.  But  maybe  we  better 
move,  friend,  for  he  would  not  be  in  good  humor  if  he 
did  come,  and  I  am  scarcely  in  better  grace  with  him 
than  you." 

"Go  where?" 

"To  join  my  party.  Did  yer  think  it  likely  I  was 
[337] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


here  alone?  I  '11  tell  yer  the  whole  of  it  in  a  word.  I 
found  the  warriors  of  the  Wyandots  marching  south,  an' 
joined  them.  Have  you  heard  it  was  war?  Ay!  there's 
no  stopping  now;  the  tribes  have  taken  the  trail,  the 
tomahawks  are  bloody.  'T  is  said  St.  Clair  has  left 
Harmar  already,  and  there  will  be  fighting  on  the 
[Wabash.  Pish !  it  is  easy  to  guess  how  it  will  end." 

"  St.  Clair  is  a  good  soldier,"  I  contended  stoutly. 

"  I  grant  that,  but  't  is  not  a  soldier  that  is  needed 
now.  Pipe  clay  and  drill  are  not  for  the  wilderness.  So 
is  Harmar  for  the  matter  of  that  —  did  n't  I  see  him 
lickin'  his  raw  recruits  into  line  —  but  one  Kentucky 
backwoodsman  —  like  our  scorched  friend  here  —  would 
be  worth  the  two  of  'em  in  a  fight  with  savages.  He  'd 
meet  them  on  their  own  ground.  I  tell  ye,  lad,  the  red- 
skins will  send  yer  St.  Clair  back  as  they  did  Braddock 
—  if  he  lives  to  go.  But  why  discuss  that  now?  Saint 
Anne !  we  've  got  enough  to  think  about  to  save  our  own 
scalps.  What  was  I  saying?  Oh,  yes  —  the  Wyandots 
were  on  the  trail  south,  and  I  left  them,  taking  a  dozen 
braves  along  with  me,  that  I  might  learn  what  had  hap- 
pened on  the  island.  *  Running  Water '  had  disap- 
peared ;  I  thought  at  the  time  maybe  she  did  n't  care  to 
travel  with  me  any  longer,  or  else  desired  to  get  away 
from  those  Indian  outlaws  we  were  camping  with.  Most 
of  them  were  drunk,  and  no  pleasant  company.  So  it 

[338] 


Through  the  Black  Night 


was  my  notion  she  left  by  herself  to  join  her  own  people. 
But  when  I  reached  the  Wyandots  she  was  not  there, 
nor  had  anyone  heard  from  her.  Then  your  party 
failed  to  show  up,  and,  putting  the  two  together,  I  got  it 
in  my  head  that  something  must  be  going  on  down  here. 
I  came  across  to  see." 

"  Where  are  your  Indians?  " 

"  At  the  foot  of  the  lake.  I  scouted  up  the  shore  as 
far  as  the  ford ;  saw  the  blaze  of  fire  over  here  and  crept 
up  through  the  woods  to  investigate.  Then  somebody 
fired  a  gun,  and  I  ran  forward.  This  is  what  I  found." 
He  waved  his  hand  about  the  open  space.  "  Now  you 
understand.  I  reckon  the  best  thing  for  us  to  do  is  to 
get  out." 

I  looked  down  at  Brady  doubtfully ;  then  stepped  over 
beside  him. 

"  How  is  he,  Mademoiselle  ?  "  I  asked,  "  can  he  talk 
at  all?" 

"  If  you  bend  close  to  his  lips  you  can  hear  his  words," 
she  answered  glancing  up  at  my  face.  The  hunter's  eyes 
were  bright;  he  seemed  to  be  trying  to  speak,  and  I 
dropped  on  my  knees  beside  her. 

"What  is  it,  Brady?" 

There  was  a  faint  muttering,  but  I  distinguished  the 
words. 

"  Was  —  was  that  —  Simon  Girty  ?  " 
[339] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Yes." 

"  The  —  the  man  —  who,  who  —  cut  me  down  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Whar  —  whar  is  he  now?  " 

"  Right  here ;  you  want  to  speak  to  him  —  oh, 
Girty?  " 

The  renegade  came  toward  us,  and  the  eyes  of  the  two 
borderers  met.  For  a  long  moment  they  looked  at  each 
other,  many  a  memory,  no  doubt,  floating  between.  Then 
Brady  held  out  a  blackened  hand. 

"  Yer  saved  my  life,  Simon  Girty,"  he  said  with  an 
effort.  "  I  —  I  never  thought  to  —  shake  hands  with 
you  —  but  —  but  I  'm  a  goin'  to." 

Girty's  ugly  face  broke  into  a  smile. 

"  No  more  did  I,"  he  admitted  grimly.  "  We  ain't 
ginerally  been  in  no  shakin'  hands  mood  when  we  've  met 
heretofore.  Still,  I  reckon,  we  're  about  even  up  an'  kin 
afford  ter  shake  if  we  wanter.  Think  yer  kin  travel  a 
bit,  Brady?" 

"How  far?" 

"  To  the  foot  of  the  lake ;  to  a  Wyandot  camp." 

The  hunter's  eyes  wandered  from  his  face  to  mine. 

"I  —  I  reckon  I  can,"  he  mumbled  at  last.  "I  — 
ain't  hurt  so  much,  only  bruised  up."  His  glance 
fell  upon  his  feet.  "  Maybe  if  —  I  had  some  whole  moc- 
casins I  'd  get  along  better." 

[340] 


Through  the  Black  Night 


"We'll  fix  that,"  and  Girty  laughed.  "I  reckon 
that 's  what  them  dead  Injuns  is  lying  there  for." 

He  stepped  across  to  the  nearest  body,  fumbled  a 
moment,  and  came  back,  dropping  on  his  knees.  Deftly 
aad  quickly  he  cut  the  burned  leather  from  the  wounded 
man's  feet,  touching  the  blackened  flesh  gingerly  with 
his  fingers,  and  slipped  on  the  new  moccasins. 

"  You  're  not  scorched  much,  friend.  Hurts  some,  I 
reckon,  but  a  couple  o'  days  will  put  you  all  right  agin." 
He  saw  me,  and  grinned.  "  Go  wash  that  face  of  yours, 
lad.  Lord !  but  I  want  to  laugh  every  time  I  look  at  it, 
an'  the  girl  here  has  n't  got  over  bein'  scared  at  you  yet. 
Go  on  now;  we'll  get  Brady  started,  and  if  you  ever 
come  into  camp  lookin'  like  that,  my  Wyandots  would 
run  all  night." 

I  left  them  willingly  enough,  and  found  water  in  the 
ravine  between  the  clay  banks  with  which  to  scrub  my- 
self, lying  down  at  full  length,  and  managing  thus  to 
remove  most  of  the  decorations.  I  dried  myself  on  the 
red  jacket,  and  then  flung  it  aside  into  the  thicket,  re- 
suming my  own,  and  picking  up  the  discarded  rifle.  The 
application  of  water  made  me  feel  like  a  new  man,  al- 
though I  realized  now  how  tired  I  was  in  brain  and  body. 
The  scattered  embers  of  fire  were  by  this  time  only  a  dull 
red,  emitting  little  flashes  of  light,  and  the  opening  in  the 
forest  was  but  dimly  revealed,  the  figures  in  the  center 
[341] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


almost  undiscernible.  I  found  the  hunter  on  his  feet, 
however,  leaning  heavily  on  Girty's  shoulder,  but  in- 
sisting he  could  walk  alone.  Mademoiselle  bore  two 
guns,  and  was  first  to  greet  me. 

"  I  cannot  see  how  you  look,"  she  said,  the  tremor 
gone  from  her  voice,  and  striving  to  speak  gaily.  "  But 
I  am  sure  it  is  an  improvement,  Monsieur." 

"  I  trust  you  may  think  so  still  by  daylight,"  I  an- 
swered. "  At  least  I  have  done  my  best  to  cease  being  a 
ghost.  I  mean  you  shall  discover  I  am  very  much  alive." 

"  I  have  small  reason  to  doubt  that.  You  must  help 
him." 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  you,  Mademoiselle ;  did  you  escape 
unin  j  ured  ?  " 

"But  for  some  small  bruises,  and  a  terrible  fright; 
only  I  —  I  wish  so  much  to  get  away  from  here,  Mon- 
sieur." 

"  Is  that  you,  Hayward  ?  "  broke  in  Girty's  harsh 
voice.  "  Take  hold  here  with  me,  until  this  man  gets 
the  use  of  his  legs.  You  know  the  way,  girl ;  down  the 
line  of  the  shore.  Keep  a  bit  ahead  of  us,  but  do  n't 
move  too  fast ;  't  will  be  dark  in  the  woods." 

Brady  groaned  with  pain,  but  was  not  without 
strength.  When  we  reached  the  forest  the  trail  was  so 
narrow,  that  Girty  fell  behind,  leaving  me  alone  to  guide 
him.  We  advanced  slowly,  having  to  almost  feel  our 


Through  the  Black  Night 


way  through  the  dense  gloom,  until  we  emerged  on  the 
shore  of  the  lake.  Here  the  dim  light  of  the  stars 
shimmering  on  the  water  yielded  a  faint  guidance,  but 
Brady  hobbled  along  so  painfully  I  had  no  heart  to 
urge  him  faster.  Ahead,  a  dim  shadow,  was 
Mademoiselle.  My  mind  was  filled  with  thought  of  her, 
but  Girty  began  asking  questions,  and  I  told  him 
briefly  all  that  had  occurred  since  we  left  Harmar.  It 
was  so  we  came,  at  last,  into  the  Wyandot  camp. 


[343] 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

A   PRISONER   TO   THE   ALLIES 

A  S  I  pen  these  adventures  of  youth  I  seem  to  retain 
but  dim  recollection  of  what  occurred  following 
our  arrival  at  the  camp  at  the  foot  of  the  lake.  I  recall 
the  struggle  we  had  with  Brady,  which  taxed  Girty's 
strength  as  well  as  my  own.  The  man  suffered  greatly, 
and  for  much  of  the  distance  we  bore  him  in  our  arms  in 
spite  of  his  protests.  Yet  we  reached  the  spot  at  last, 
and  stumbled  into  the  circle  of  light  cast  by  a  small  fire, 
the  Indians  aroused  from  sleep  by  Girty's  shout,  and 
clustering  about  us  in  eager  curiosity.  At  first  view  I 
deemed  them  hostile,  but  a  word  from  the  girl  made  them 
friendly  enough. 

Indeed  she  assumed  command  at  once,  ignoring  Girty 
utterly,  and  keeping  the  Wyandots  busy  with  an  effort 
to  give  Brady  relief  from  pain.  Boughs  were  spread  for 
him  before  the  fire,  the  wounded  man  placed  upon  these, 
and  his  wounds  carefully  washed.  I  saw  the  old  hunter's 
eyes  following  her  movements  as  she  flitted  about  in  the 
firelight,  or  bent  above  him  in  gentle  ministration.  If 
she  was  weary  she  gave  no  sign,  her  whole  thought  con- 
centrated on  her  work  of  mercy.  She  never  looked  at 

[345] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


or  spoke  to  me,  and  I  felt  my  heart  sink  as  I  watched 
her,  the  dancing  red  light  on  her  face,  grave  and  earnest. 
With  the  help  of  one  of  the  warriors  —  an  older  man  of 
stern  look  —  she  made  some  native  poultice,  which  was 
bound  to  the  burned  feet  as  well  as  the  wounded  jaw. 
This  must  have  brought  relief,  for  Brady  finally  closed 
his  eyes,  and  fell  asleep  with  her  brown  hand  stroking 
his  forehead.  Yet  she  remained  in  her  position,  motion- 
less, her  eyes  upon  his  face.  I  moved  uneasily,  and 
changed  my  position,  but  she  did  not  look  up.  From 
where  I  lay  I  could  see  the  clear  outline  of  her  face 
silhouetted  against  the  fire.  I  yearned  to  go  to  her, 
yet  somehow  I  dared  not.  At  last  I  lay  my  head  down 
on  my  arm,  still  watching  her,  and,  before  I  knew  it,  was 
asleep. 

It  was  gray  dawn  when  Girty  called  me,  a  bright, 
fair  dawn,  and  everything  was  ready  for  the  march.  I 
ate  the  food  an  Indian  brought  me,  but  looked  about  in 
vain  for  Mademoiselle.  The  hunter  was  sitting  up, 
propped  against  the  base  of  a  tree,  and  his  eyes  smiled 
a  welcome  when  I  called  to  him.  He  had  slept  well,  he 
said,  and  was  better.  Then  Girty  ordered  the  breaking 
of  camp,  and  she  stood  beside  me,  as  I  gained  my 
feet.  I  know  not  where  she  came  from,  but  she  looked 
as  fresh  as  the  morning,  her  dark  eyes  meeting  mine  in 
all  frankness. 

[346] 


A  Prisoner  to  the  Allies 


"  You  are  a  good  sleeper,  Monsieur,"  she  said  lightly. 

"  And  you  must  be  a  witch  to  get  along  with  none,  and 
yet  appear  so  rested." 

"  Oh,  but  I  slept ;  did  you  think  not?  " 

"  I  only  know  you  were  awake  when  I  succumbed. 
Your  face  was  the  last  thing  I  saw,  but  I  could  keep  my 
eyes  open  no  longer." 

She  laughed. 

"  Perhaps  had  you  waited  a  moment  longer  I  might 
have  said  good  night,"  archly.  "  But  when  I  turned 
you  were  sleeping  soundly.  I  remained  with  Monsieur 
Brady  until  I  knew  he  was  relieved  of  pain.  He  looks 
quite  himself  this  morning." 

She  left  me  with  a  nod  of  good  fellowship,  and  knelt 
down  to  speak  with  him,  just  as  Girty  came  up  with  two 
of  his  Wyandots.  Nor  did  we  converse  alone  again  that 
day.  When  the  night  came  I  had  the  feeling  she 
avoided  me. 

They  made  a  litter  for  the  hunter  from  two  poles, 
with  a  blanket  strung  between,  the  Indians  taking  turn 
as  bearers.  Mademoiselle  went  ahead  with  some  of  her 
own  people,  while  Girty  and  I  brought  up  the  rear.  We 
talked  but  little,  although  I  caught  a  wide  grin  on  the 
fellow's  face  every  time  he  looked  at  me  and  recalled  the 
memory  of  my  ghost  play.  Once  he  chuckled  in  merri- 
ment, swearing  again  he  would  tell  the  tale  to  the  Eng- 
[347] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


lish  commandant,  but  I  saw  no  fun  in  it,  and  told  him 
so  in  a  way  that  kept  his  tongue  silent.  I  was  in  no  good 
humor  at  best,  and,  in  spite  of  his  service  to  us,  no 
friend  to  the  black  renegade.  Faith,  I  knew  his  foul 
story  too  well,  and  thought  only  of  how  soon  we  might 
be  rid  of  his  company.  'T  was  with  this  in  mind  that  I 
ventured  on  questioning  the  fellow  as  to  his  purpose, 
and  where  he  proposed  taking  us.  His  answers  were  not 
to  my  liking,  although  he  was  soft-spoken  enough. 

"  Where  could  I  take  you,  friend,  but  to  the  Wyan- 
dots?  It  was  to  them  you  were  sent." 

"  Ay !  but  the  mission  has  failed,  and  there  is  already 
war." 

"  The  more  reason  you  should  go.  These  woods  are 
full  of  savages  to  whom  you  would  be  easy  prey.  What 
could  you  do  with  the  wounded  man  alone  ?  'T  is  a  long 
trail  from  here  to  the  Ohio,  and  a  hard  one." 

"And  the  Wyandots?" 

"  Will  hold  you  prisoner,  no  doubt.  'T  is  not  like 
they  will  free  you  to  fight  against  them.  Yet  that  is 
better  fate  than  death  and  torture.  'T  is  my  belief  that 
Hamilton  is  with  the  tribes.  If  so,  he  may  hold  you  to 
ransom." 

I  said  no  more,  watching  Mademoiselle's  slender  form 
ahead,  and  buried  in  my  own  thoughts.  Yet  before 
sundown  we  had  proof  that  the  man  was  right,  for  we 

[348] 


A  Prisoner  to  the  Allies 


suddenly  came  up  with  a  considerable  band,  armed  and 
painted  for  war  —  Miamis,  and  Pottawattomies,  Girty 
said  —  the  warriors  crushing  about  us  with  sullen  faces 
and  fierce  yellings.  Some  among  them  recognized 
Brady,  and  one  brute  struck  him  with  a  gun  stock,  be- 
fore the  chiefs  came  and  drove  them  back.  That  night 
we  were  under  Indian  guard  and  the  next  day  marched 
with  grim,  silent  warriors  on  either  side  of  us.  Made- 
moiselle remained  by  Brady  much  of  the  time,  seeing  to 
the  bandaging  of  his  wounds,  but  I  trudged  on  despond- 
ent and  alone,  for  Girty  had  disappeared. 

It  was  the  fourth  day,  on  the  banks  of  the  Maumee, 
that  we  came  straggling  into  the  Indian  encampment, 
and  passed  through  howling  hordes,  who  struck  at  us 
in  spite  of  the  guards.  The  word  passed  that  one  of 
the  white  prisoners  was  Stephen  Brady  caused  them  to 
press  about  us  so  close  that  we  were  fairly  hemmed 
into  the  mass,  infuriated  faces  on  every  side,  the  wild 
shrieking  making  an  indescribable  din.  The  situation 
was  becoming  serious,  for  the  guards  cared  little  what 
befell  us,  when  Girty,  accompanied  by  three  Wyandot 
chiefs  and  a  white  man  in  British  uniform,  fought  pas- 
sage through  the  crowd,  and,  by  threats  and  blows,  won 
way  for  us  through  the  village.  The  extent  of  this  sur- 
prised me,  and  gave  me  a  new  conception  of  the  power  of 
those  northwest  Indian  tribes.  There  were  hundreds, 

[349] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


perhaps  thousands,  gathered  there,  for  we  only  traversed 
one  end  of  the  encampment,  the  warriors  of  tribes  whose 
homes  were  as  far  away  as  the  Great  Lakes  and  the 
Big  River.  Nor  were  all  yet  gathered  at  the  rendezvous. 
Our  ears,  as  we  pressed  on,  heard  a  jargon  of  strange 
tongues,  and  our  eyes  saw  a  variety  of  Indian  dress, 
such  as  few  have  looked  upon ;  everywhere  the  war  bon- 
nets waved  resplendent,  and  hideous  faces,  streaked  with 
war  paint,  glared  at  us  in  hostile  menace.  It  was  a  des- 
perate passage,  yet  those  who  protected  us  from  vio- 
lence pressed  steadily  on,  thrusting  aside  obstructing 
forms  in  grim  determination.  Twice  they  came  to  blows, 
and  once  the  Englishman  threatened  to  use  his  rifle, 
but,  at  last,  we  reached  the  camp  of  the  Wyandots,  and 
left  the  howling  mass  behind.  There  were  savages  in 
plenty  here,  but  the  sight  of  Mademoiselle  beside  us 
still,  and  the  presence  of  their  own  chiefs,  held  them 
to  peace.  They  crowded  about,  pointing  at  us,  even 
touching  us  with  curious  hands,  questioning  eagerly, 
but  with  no  threat  of  violence. 

One  chief  called  to  them,  and  many  responded,  driv- 
ing back  those  of  other  tribes  who  still  yelled  threaten- 
ingly in  our  rear.  There  were  shouts,  blows,  the  sound 
of  struggle,  but  we  were  not  halted.  There  were  few 
wigwams  erected,  not  more  than  two  or  three  standing 
in  the  shadow  of  trees  close  beside  the  river.  Big  as 

[350] 


A  Prisoner  to  the  Allies 


the  encampment  was,  it  was  no  permanent  village,  but  a 
mere  rendezvous  for  the  various  tribes  allied  for  war. 
To  one  of  these,  covered  with  deerskin  and  rendered 
hideous  by  tribal  totems,  we  were  taken,  and  thrust 
within.  At  last  we  were  alone,  Brady  and  I,  although 
we  could  still  hear  the  yelling  without.  He  lay  extended 
on  his  litter,  and  I  dropped  to  the  ground,  thoroughly 
exhausted  from  the  rough  buffetting  through  which  I 
had  passed.  We  were  safe  for  the  time  being;  I  knew 
that,  but  what  the  future  had  in  store  could  not  be 
guessed  at.  It  would  depend  upon  the  decision  of  the 
Wyandots,  and  the  authority  exercised  over  the  wild 
hordes  by  the  few  white  men  present.  That  some  of 
these  wore  the  uniform  of  the  British  service  signified 
little,  for  they  would  be  there  without  the  open  con- 
nivance of  their  government  —  more  adventurers  than 
soldiers.  What  real  influence  they  wielded  I  had  no 
means  of  knowing,  nor  could  I  deem  them  of  high  char- 
acter or  merciful  hearts. 

Brady  sat  up,  and  then,  with  some  effort,  and  no 
special  exhibit  of  pain,  succeeded  in  standing  erect. 
I  joined  him,  and  our  hands  met  in  firm  grip;  his  eyes 
were  cool,  the  expression  of  his  strong  face  composed. 

"  You  are  better,  Brady?  " 

"  The  pain  is  less,"  he  said  with  difficulty.  "  The 
girl  is  a  witch  doctor.  Ay !  the  touch  of  her  hands  — 

[351] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


cures.  Yet  I  thought  —  it  best  —  not  to  appear  — 
strong.  Faith !  't  is  a  big  Indian  camp  —  Hayward. 
Did  you  mark  the  different  tribes,  boy?  The  whole  — 
northwest  is  here  —  and  with  white  leaders." 

"  They  will  give  St.  Clair  a  fight." 

"  My  God !  —  they  will  —  an'  he  '11  come  up  to  it  — 
like  a  blind  fool.  He  '11  march  into  —  an  ambuscade  — 
mark  my  words  —  unless  he  's  warned.  Oh  how  I  wish 
J  had  —  my  old  feet  back." 

"  For  what,  Brady?  You  would  run  for  it?  Would 
seek  escape  ?  " 

"  Ay,  I  would,"  earnestly.  "  'T  is  worth  more  than 
my  life  to  tell  him  what  is  coming.  But,  faith,  't  is  all 
I  can  do  to  hobble.  Lad,  you  must  go." 

"  I?    How?    There  is  no  way." 

"  We  '11  find  one ;  the  girl  —  hush !  someone  is  com- 
ing now !  " 

There  were  three  of  them  —  Wyandot  chiefs  —  and 
a  white  man.  I  stepped  back  as  they  filed  in  through  the 
narrow  opening,  the  Indians  grave  and  stolid  of  mien, 
wrapped  in  blankets,  not  even  glancing  toward  us  as  they 
passed;  the  white  man,  who  came  last,  dark-skinned, 
erect,  his  eyes  a  sharp,  scintillating  blue,  his  moustache 
gray  and  luxuriant.  He  wore  a  green  hunting  shirt 
that  hung  in  fringe  to  the  knees,  a  pistol  and  knife  at 
his  belt,  and  on  his  head  a  hat  of  broad  brim  that  left 

[352] 


A  Prisoner  to  the  Allies 


his  face  in  shadow.  I  saw  Brady  stare  at  him,  giving 
utterance  to  a  sudden,  half  suppressed  exclamation, 
but  I  remained  motionless  and  observant,  while  the  three 
chiefs  solemnly  seated  themselves  on  the  ground,  and 
the  fellow  in  the  green  shirt  wheeled  about,  as  if  on 
parade,  and  scanned  us  for  a  long  moment  in  silence. 

"Which  is  Stephen  Brady?"  he  questioned  at  last 
in  high-strung  voice. 

The  scout  sought  to  answer,  but  the  words  were  but  a 
mumble.  I  stepped  forward  into  the  stronger  light. 

"  This  man  is  Brady,"  I  said  shortly.  "  He  has  been 
shot  in  the  jaw,  and  cannot  speak." 

The  eyes  of  the  four  were  on  me  in  startled  amaze- 
ment. The  white  even  took  a  quick  step  forward  to 
better  peer  into  my  face. 

"  And  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Ensign  Hayward,  of  the  garrison  of  Fort  Harmar." 

An  oath  leaped  from  his  lips,  his  sharp  eyes  snapping. 

"  Rot,  man !  What  mummery  is  this  ?  Do  you  dare 
think  I  do  not  know  you?  " 

"  I  am  very  sure  you  do  not,"  I  answered  coldly,  little 
liking  his  manner.  "  Never  before  have  I  seen  you. 
Yet  I  know  whom  you  mistake  me  for  —  a  British  Lieu- 
tenant of  my  name." 

"  And  you  are  not  he?  you  insist  on  that?  You  have 
his  name,  his  look,  and  still  claim  to  be  another?  I  can 

[353] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


scarce  believe  that.     What  know  you  then  of  Lieutenant 
Hayward?  " 

"  That  his  body  lies  yonder,  beyond  a  lake  in  the 
woods." 

"Killed!  by  whom?" 

"  By  a  white  renegade  —  Jules  Lappin.  I  saw  him 
die,  and  if  you  care  to  listen  will  tell  the  story." 

He  stood  in  silence,  gazing  at  me,  unbelief  plainly 
depicted  on  his  face,  one  hand  clasping  a  pistol  butt. 
Then  he  nodded  his  head. 

"  Go  on !  "  he  said  harshly. 

I  told  the  tale  briefly  enough,  from  the  time  when 
Girty  first  appeared  to  me  in  the  woods,  until  we  en- 
tered the  Indian  encampment.  The  dark,  expression- 
less eyes  of  the  chiefs  were  upon  me,  and  I  spoke  slowly, 
not  knowing  whether  they  understood  or  not.  I  saw 
bewilderment  and  interest  in  the  face  of  the  white  man 
as  I  proceeded,  his  hand  leaving  the  pistol  to  tug  at  his 
moustache.  Once  or  twice  he  interrupted  me  with  a 
question,  but  the  sharp  tone  of  his  voice  was  modified. 
When  I  related  my  career  as  a  ghost,  something  not 
unlike  a  smile  curved  his  thin  lips,  and  softened  the 
steel  glitter  of  his  eyes. 

"And  you  expect  me  to  believe  that?  " 

"  I  do." 

"  And  why  —  pray?  " 

[354] 


A  Prisoner  to  the  Allies 


"  Because  I  am  an  officer,  and  a  gentleman,"  I  an- 
swered stiffly.  He  laughed,  unpleasantly. 

"  Permit  me  to  say  a  rather  unusual  combination  so 
far  as  I  am  acquainted  with  the  service  you  claim  to  rep- 
resent. However,  I  will  question  Girty.  Who  is  this 
Mademoiselle  D'Auvray  ?  " 

"  You  may  know  her  as  *  Running  Water'." 

"  Oh,  the  Wyandot  missionary.  Ay !  I  remember 
now  old  D'Auvray  was  her  father.  We  clashed  often 
enough  to  recall  each  other  —  a  quarrelsome  French- 
man, and,  from  all  I  hear,  the  girl  possesses  the  same 
spirit."  He  stopped  speaking,  with  a  glance  at  the 
silent  chiefs. 

"  You  would  question  the  man  ?  " 

There  was  no  response,  save  that  of  the  central  figure 
who  shook  his  head  gravely. 

"  Then  I  hold  the  two  of  you  prisoners.  After  the 
campaign  you  may  be  taken  to  Detroit.  At  present 
you  must  go  with  the  tribes,  as  there  are  no  men  to 
spare  to  guard  you  north.  Do  you  know,  sir,  who 
I  am?" 

"  I  do  not." 

"  Well,  your  companion  does ;  that  is  why  I  hold  you 
in  close  confinement  —  to  keep  your  mouths  shut.  We 
will  go,  Wyandots." 

They  filed  out  slowly  in  the  same  order  they  had 
[355] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


entered.  At  the  entrance  the  man  in  the  green  shirt 
paused,  and  glanced  back. 

"  You  understand  that  the  slightest  attempt  at  escape 
will  mean  death,"  he  said  sternly.  "  The  savages  are 
hard  to  control." 

Neither  of  us  answered,  and,  after  waiting  a  moment, 
he  dropped  the  flap  of  skin  and  disappeared.  I  turned 
toward  Brady. 

"  He  said  you  knew  him ;  who  is  he  ?  " 

There  was  a  stern  glow  in  the  old  scout's  eyes. 

"  Hamilton,  the  British  commander  at  Detroit  —  the 
biggest  devil  on  this  frontier.  'T  is  a  bold  thing  —  his 
being  here  in  person.  There  is  big  game  on  foot." 


[856] 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

RENE*  COMES 

rriHE  afternoon  passed  slowly.  We  discussed  the 
chances  of  escape,  yet  knew  so  little  of  our  sur- 
roundings as  to  gain  slight  satisfaction.  If  we  could 
be  certain  that  there  were  no  Indians  on  the  opposite 
bank  of  the  river  we  might  venture  an  attempt.  But 
we  were  far  from  sure.  Desperate  as  we  were,  desirous 
above  all  things  to  get  our  scanty  information  to  St. 
Clair,  we  could  not  court  certain  death.  Even  Brady 
advised  postponing  the  effort  until  we  learned  more  of 
the  situation.  It  was  his  belief  that  the  Indians  would 
remain  where  they  were  for  several  days,  waiting  the 
arrival  of  other  tribes  from  a  distance.  Scouting  par- 
ties might  be  sent  out,  but  the  main  body  would  stay  in 
camp,  preparing  and  awaiting  new  recruits.  Hamilton, 
he  was  sure,  would  never  dare  lead  the  redskins  into 
battle,  and  his  presence  in  the  village  was  proof  that 
the  real  campaign  had  not  commenced.  It  was  merely 
planned  and  engineered. 

He  fell  asleep  at  last,  but  I  kept  wide  awake,  listen- 
ing to  the  various  noises  without,  and  watching  the 
lengthening  shadows  indicate  the  passage  of  the  sun.  I 

[357] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


could  see  the  silhouette  of  an  Indian  guard,  standing 
like  a  statue,  and  once  ventured  to  peer  out  through  the 
slit  in  the  skins,  but  only  stared  into  a  savage  face,  and 
dodged  back,  barely  escaping  the  vicious  sweep  of  a 
tomahawk.  At  another  time  loud  yelling  led  me  to  be- 
lieve new  arrivals  had  come  trooping  in,  and  just  before 
dark  an  English  voice  spoke  sharply  to  the  guard  with- 
out, and  I  realized  there  were  others  besides  the  one  I 
had  seen,  stationed  about  the  lodge.  We  had  been  fed 
soon  after  our  arrival  in  camp,  and  nothing  more  in 
the  nature  of  food  was  forthcoming.  Night  settled 
down  but  with  no  diminution  of  noise  without.  Fires 
were  kindled  both  in  front  and  behind  the  wigwam  in 
which  we  were  confined,  and  the  red  glare  found  en- 
trance through  slits  in  the  skins,  making  the  interior 
visible.  Some  robes  and  a  blanket  or  two  were  thrust 
through  the  opening  by  a  red  arm.  I  spread  one  of 
the  latter  over  Brady  without  disturbing  him,  and  sat 
down  on  the  rest,  occupied  with  gloomy  thoughts. 

Thus  far  all  had  been  failure,  our  mission  useless, 
our  sufferings  vain ;  Schultz  had  given  up  his  life, 
Brady  was  wounded  and  suffering,  and  I,  as  well  as  he, 
a  helpless  prisoner.  Yet  even  this  could  be  borne  with 
patience  if  only  I  could  perceive  some  way  to  become  of 
service,  some  means  by  which  I  could  warn  St.  Clair  of 
this  tornado  of  savagery  about  to  sweep  down  upon 

[358] 


licnc  Comes 


him.  I  wrestled  with  the  problem,  searching  vainly  for 
some  avenue  of  escape,  some  unguarded  opening  by 
which  I  might  hope  to  penetrate  through  the  watchful 
red  lines.  God  knows  I  had  no  fear  for  myself,  no 
shrinking  from  danger.  I  would  have  risked  the  rifles 
in  a  moment  could  I  only  discover  a  chance  to  carry  a 
warning  of  treachery.  My  whole  thought  was  with  my 
comrades,  marching  the  forest  trails,  unaware  of  the 
hordes  of  warriors  who  watched  their  every  movement 
with  furtive  savagery  —  tramping  sturdily  forward  to 
ambuscade  and  death.  The  dread  picture  left  me  sick 
and  trembling,  the  awful  helplessness  taking  the  very 
heart  out  of  me. 

Slowly,  insensibly,  the  vision  of  Mademoiselle  came. 
What  a  life  had  been  hers  from  childhood,  and  yet 
how  the  true,  sweet  worilanhood  had  conquered  all  sav- 
age environment.  It  was  to  me  a  miracle.  Indian  she 
claimed  herself,  and  yet  it  was  her  French  forebears 
who  had  marked  her  face  and  character.  The  very 
glory  of  the  French  court  found  fresh  portrayal  in 
this  homeless  girl  of  the  wilderness  —  in  the  proud  set- 
ting of  her  head,  in  the  merry  laugh  of  her  eyes,  the 
naive  daring  of  her  actions.  She  was  like  no  other  I 
had  ever  known  —  she  was  just  herself.  And  yet  the 
sweet,  wholesome  charm  of  her !  It  was  not  to  be  told 
in  words,  nor  pictured  in  thought ;  there  was  about  her 

[359] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


the  breath  of  the  wild,  made  more  fragrant  by  the  subtle 
perfume  of  civilization.  She  could  do  strange  things, 
cast  convention  aside,  and  still  remain  womanly,  sweet 
and  strong.  What  a  bright,  happy  sprite  she  was,  yet 
what  tongue  would  be  reckless  enough  to  attempt  insult  ? 
I  pitied  the  man  who  did,  who  presumed  on  her  drop  of 
Indian  blood,  or  the  happiness  of  her  disposition.  For 
those  dark  eyes  could  flash,  ay !  and  if  need  be,  the  strong 
brown  hand  could  strike.  Someway  this  girl  had  learned 
life,  had  found  its  shadow  and  its  sunshine,  and  glori- 
fied it  with  a  deep,  abiding  faith  which  set  her  apart 
and  stamped  her  different.  She  was  Rene  D'Auvray  — 
lovable,  brave,  faithful,  her  very  presence  a  benediction, 
her  smile  a  blessing  worth  sacrifice  to  win.  I  wondered 
where  she  was  in  that  ribald  camp.  Had  she  also  been 
held  prisoner  —  which  was  not  likely  —  or  been  sent 
back  to  the  North  —  far  more  probable  —  as  a  squaw 
out  of  place  amid  this  concourse  of  warriors  preparing 
for  battle.  Surely  some  restraint  kept  her  from  com- 
ing, some  authority  other  than  the  command  of  Wyan- 
dot  chiefs.  These  held  her  in  awe,  almost  in  reverence 
—  she  could  have  won  her  way  with  them,  and,  some- 
how, I  had  no  doubt  what  that  way  would  be.  My  heart- 
beats quickened  with  the  faith  that  was  in  me. 

She  was  in  my  mind  still,  a  soft,  tender  memory,  when 
the  skin   concealing  the  entrance  was  lifted  and  she 

[360] 


Rene  Comes 


stood  in  the  narrow  opening  looking  in.  I  could  see 
her  slender,  lightly  poised  form  outlined  against  the 
fire,  but  seemingly  her  eyes  could  not  penetrate  the 
darkness  within.  An  instant  she  hesitated,  leaning 
slightly  forward. 

"  Monsieur." 

'*  Yes,"  I  said  eagerly,  already  on  my  feet.  "  I  was 
longing  for  you  to  come." 

She  came  forward  cautiously,  guided  by  the  sound 
of  my  voice,  leaving  the  entrance  open,  permitting  me  to 
glimpse  the  guard  without,  facing  the  opening. 

"  And  I  thought  I  might  never  have  the  privilege, 
Monsieur,"  she  said  softly.  "  Hamilton  refused  to 
listen  to  my  request,  even  to  see  me.  I  had  to  wait  until 
he  left  the  camp,  and  make  appeal  to  my  own  people." 

"  He  has  departed  then?  " 

"  Not  for  long ;  merely  to  hasten  forward  laggard 
tribes.  He  is  a  hard  man,  Monsieur,  ambitious  and 
cruel.  It  is  he,  not  the  Indians,  you  must  fear." 

"  But  he  is  of  white  blood ;  of  a  nation  at  peace  with 
us.  It  seems  strange,  his  enmity." 

"  Yet  that  is  the  very  cause.  He  is  here  in  secret, 
performing  an  act  of  treachery.  I  know  not  what  his 
government  bids  him  to  do,  but  it  is  his  influence  which 
has  precipitated  war.  He  and  his  emissaries  have 
preached  it  from  tribe  to  tribe.  Yet  he  dare  not  have  it 

[361] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


known.  That  is  where  danger  threatens  you,  Monsieur 
—  you  recognize  him,  you  have  seen  him  here  in  this 
hostile  camp ;  you  are  an  officer  of  the  Americain  army, 
your  word  of  testimony  would  bear  weight." 

"  You  mean,"  I  asked,  horrified  at  the  thought,  "  that 
his  promise  of  protection  is  a  false  one?  " 

"  I  do  not  know,"  hesitating.  "  I  only  know  the  man, 
and  dare  not  trust  him.  He  is  ambitious,  unscrupulous, 
and  possesses  power.  'T  will  be  as  he  decides.  A  life 
will  weigh  nothing  if  it  interferes  with  his  plans."  Her 
hands  clasped  mine  suddenly,  her  eyes  upturned  to  my 
face.  "  I  could  not  be  untrue  to  my  people,"  she  whis- 
pered swiftly,  "  but  they  have  been  made  this  English- 
man's victims.  Him  I  despise,  abominate ;  he  has  led  my 
people  astray;  there  will  be  weeping  and  sorrow  in  the 
villages  of  the  Wyandots." 

A  quick  hope  came  to  me,  and  I  held  tightly  to  the 
hand  in  my  clasp. 

"You  have  come  to  help  us,  Mademoiselle?  "  I  whis- 
pered, bending  so  close  her  hair  brushed  my  lips.  "  You 
feel  that  our  need  is  that  desperate  ?  " 

"  I  must  do  right,"  she  answered,  yet  without  lifting 
her  eyes  to  mine,  "  as  God  tells  me.  I  pray  to  him  for 
guidance.  You  are  white  men  and  Christians;  you 
came  to  the  Wyandots  on  a  mission  of  peace.  What  is 
my  duty,  Monsieur?  I  also  am  Christian,  and  only  a 

[362] 


Rene  Comes 


drop  of  Indian  blood  flows  in  my  veins.  Yet  all  my  life 
have  I  been  Indian.  How  can  I  turn  against  my  own 
people  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  think  that  you  do,"  I  urged  as  she  paused, 
breathing  heavily.  "  The  Wyandots  have  been  falsely 
led,  deceived.  They  have  been  driven  into  this  war  by 
the  lies  of  white  men.  Would  we  be  in  danger  now  if  our 
fate  was  left  to  a  council  of  Wyandot  chiefs  ?  " 

"  No ;  they  would  listen  to  me,  and  believe.  It  is 
Hamilton  and  his  white  aides  who  refuse  to  hear  the 
story.  I  went  to  his  tepee  twice,  and  was  turned  away( 
—  the  last  time  with  insults,  as  though  I  were  an 
unknown  squaw." 

"  How,  then,  did  you  gain  permission  to  come  here?  " 

"  I  waited  until  he  left  the  camp.  There  are  but 
two  white  men  here  tonight,  and  one  of  them  is  Girty. 
I  like  not  the  man,  but  he  seems  friendly  to  you,  and  so 
I  trust  him.  He  suggested  that  I  come,  and  told  me 
something  which  gave  me  courage.  He  had  heard  a 
word  dropped  by  Hamilton  which  made  him  suspect 
your  lives  were  at  stake.  He  dare  not  act  openly,  but 
he  sent  me  to  tell  you  this,  and  to  whisper  to  you  his 
plan.  It  was  easy  for  me  to  come  here  with  Hamilton 
away.  The  guards  are  Wyandots,  and  I  had  only  to  ask 
the  chief  to  let  me  dress  again  Monsieur  Brady's  wounds. 
He  had  not  been  warned  against  me,  and  suspected 

[363] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


nothing.  The  Englishman  who  was  left  in  command 
was  led  by  Girty  to  the  other  end  of  the  village.  When 
the  chief  sought  him,  he  was  not  to  be  found,  and  so  I 
was  given  permission." 

She  stepped  silently  back  to  the  entrance,  and  glanced 
out  into  the  firelight,  returning  as  swiftly  to  clasp  my 
sleeve. 

"  Listen,  Monsieur ;  I  must  speak  fast,  for  I  know 
not  who  may  suspicion  us.  Is  he  better?  " 

"  Yes,  except  for  the  wound  in  his  face ;  his  feet  will 
bear  him,  although  he  would  suffer  pain." 

"  He  could  travel  but  slowly,  and  it  is  a  long  forest 
road,  nor  could  you  conceal  your  trail.  Ay!  Girty's 
plan  is  the  better  —  by  means  of  the  river.  Now  mark 
every  word,  for  't  is  a  desperate  chance.  Two  hours 
from  now  be  ready.  We  must  work  tonight,  while 
Hamilton  is  away.  I  will  somehow  draw  the  guard  away 
from  this  side  —  here,  next  to  river,  Monsieur.  When 
you  hear  an  owl  hoot  three  times  creep  beneath  the  skins 
and  down  the  bank  to  the  water's  edge.  You  must  move 
like  foxes,  for  there  will  be  sleeping  warriors  to  pass. 
Go  down  stream." 

"  And  then  ?  "  I  asked  breathlessly,  as  she  stopped  to 
glance  behind. 

"  A  quarter  of  a  mile  below,  at  the  end  of  the  village, 
around  a  sharp  bend,  Girty  will  have  a  canoe  tied  to  a 

[364] 


Rene  Comes 


tree  that  overhangs  the  water.  It  will  be  in  shadow, 
and  concealed  by  brush.  He  has  promised  to  put  into 
it  food,  paddles  and  one  gun." 

"Are  there  Indians  on  the  opposite  bank?" 

"  A  few,  yes,  and  there  is  much  scouting.  You  cannot 
be  too  cautious.  Float  with  the  stream  at  first ;  do  not 
risk  the  paddles  until  you  round  the  big  bend,  and  then 
be  silent.  You  must  hide  during  daylight  —  are  you 
sure  you  understand  all  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  that  is  clear,  but  I  must  ask  a  question  — 
where  is  St.  Clair?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  exactly,  but  he  is  marching  toward 
the  little  Wabash ;  he  seeks  to  destroy  the  Miami  towns." 

"With  what  force?" 

"  Less  than  two  thousand,  the  scouts  say.  He  only 
expects  to  meet  the  Indians  of  the  Wabash." 

She  must  have  answered  me  without  pausing  to  think, 
for  as  the  words  left  her  lips,  she  drew  a  quick,  startled 
breath. 

"  Why  should  I  have  told  you  that !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  I  have  forgotten  I  am  a  Wyandot ;  that  —  that  I 
only  seek  to  save  your  life." 

"  I  have  long  ago  forgotten,"  I  returned  earnestly. 
"  And  it  is  well  you  told  me,  for  nothing  less  than  duty 
to  my  country  would  ever  compel  me  to  leave  you  here. 
Even  at  risk  of  life  I  would  remain  to  be  near  you,  re- 

[365] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


main  to  urge  you  to  desert  this  life  and  return  to  your 
own  people." 

"  The  Wyandots  are  my  people." 

"  No ;  you  are  not  of  them,  save  by  accident.  In 
heart,  in  nature,  in  face  even,  you  are  of  the  white  race. 
Will  you  not  come  with  us  now?  " 

She  could  not  doubt  the  earnestness  of  my  appeal, 
and  I  could  feel  her  tremble,  as  her  eyes  scanned  my  face 
In  the  dim  light. 

"  No,  Monsieur." 

"  You  prefer  savagery,  the  squalor  of  Wyandot  vil- 
lages, the  horrors  of  Indian  war,  to  —  to  me?"  I 
faltered.  "  Am  I  nothing  to  you,  Rene?  " 

"  You  are  much,  Monsieur,"  she  said  frankly.  "  So 
much,  I  am  afraid.  I  do  not  know  why,  but  it  —  it  was 
hard  for  me  to  come  with  the  message.  But  I  had  to, 
for  there  was  no  one  else." 

"  But  why  should  you  be  afraid?  Have  I  ever  been 
discourteous?  Ever  lacking  in  respect?  " 

"  Oh,  no !  no !  It  was  that,  Monsieur,  which  made 
you  different.  I  was  not  to  you  an  Indian  squaw,  but  a 
woman.  It  was  in  your  words,  your  eyes.  I  had  grown 
to  distrust  white  men,  but  you  won  my  faith.  It  is  be- 
cause I  had  learned  to  trust  you  I  was  afraid  to  come. 
I  —  I  feared  you  would  say  this,  and  —  and  I  knew  it 
would  be  hard  to  say  no." 

[366] 


Rene  Comes 


"  Then  do  not  say  it,"  I  urged.  "  It  is  love  that 
calls." 

"  Please,  Monsieur ;  I  cannot  hear  that.  I  am  your 
friend,  but  I  am  not  of  your  race,  not  of  your  people. 
It  is  not  blood,  but  everything ;  you  do  not  understand. 
I  was  born  in  the  wilderness.  God  placed  me  here  for 
purposes  of  His  own.  I  —  I  am  pledged  to  His  service, 
by  a  vow  as  sacred  to  me  as  if  it  had  been  taken  before 
men.  I  am  His  messenger  to  the  Wyandots.  They 
need  me  —  more  than  ever  they  need  me,  now  that  my 
father  is  dead." 

"  And  do  you  dream  I  will  give  you  up  for  that  plea?  " 
"  You  must,  Monsieur;  you  are  of  my  church." 
"  Ay !  and  always  will  be.  Yet  love  will  conquer, 
Rene.  It  is  you  who  do  not  understand.  God  may 
have  called  you  to  the  work  of  the  wilderness.  He  has 
also  guided  us  through  the  forest  to  each  other.  In  this 
He  tells  you  that  the  earlier  work  is  done ;  that  now  He 
has  for  you  a  new  duty.  You  will  hear  the  call.  I  will 
go  believing,  but  I  shall  come  back.  Yes,  I  will,  dear 
girl;  there  are  no  leagues  of  forest  now  that  can  keep 
me  from  you.  Nowhere  can  you  hide  in  the  villages  of 
the  Wyandots,  but  I  will  find  you.  You  will  not  forbid 
me  coming?  " 

"  Are  there  no  women  of  your  people?  " 
"  There  is  no  other  Rene  D'Auvray  in  all  the  world," 
[367] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


I  urged  warmly,  and  clasped  her  hands.  "  You  cannot 
tell  me  not  to  come." 

She  smiled,  but  it  was  wearily,  and  with  a  little 
pucker  of  pain  about  the  lips. 

"  No,  Monsieur;  I  will  not  tell  you  not  to  come. 
I  —  I  shall  wish  so  much  to  know  of  you,  of  —  of  how 
you  fare  on  this  long  j  ourney.  It  —  it  will  be  lonely 
here  for  me  —  lonelier  than  ever.  It  —  it  is  not  I  who 
will  forget,  nor  will  I  be  the  first  woman  of  my  race  to 
wait  —  to  wait  the  return  of  a  white  man." 

A  head  was  thrust  through  the  flap,  and  a  gruff  voice 
spoke  in  a  strange  language.  The  girl's  fingers  pressed 
mine  firmly,  and  then  she  turned  and  went  out  in  silence. 
As  she  passed  out  of  the  opening  her  hand  dropped  the 
skin,  leaving  the  interior  in  darkness. 


[368] 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE  ESCAPE 

T  STOOD  motionless,  listening  to  the  many  sounds 
without,  hardly  conscious  yet  that  she  had  gone. 
The  hot  blood  was  throbbing  in  my  veins,  but  it  was 
caused  by  no  thought  of  the  dangers  confronting  me. 
At  that  moment  she  alone  occupied  my  mind.  Then 
slowly  her  message  recurred,  forcing  its  way  in  upon 
my  consciousness  with  insistence.  Tonight  —  our  es- 
cape must  be  made  within  two  short  hours.  I  stepped 
forward  to  awaken  Brady,  but  now,  with  my  brain 
cleared,  a  sudden  suspicion  came.  Was  this  honest 
planning?  Was  the  desire  back  of  it  actually  our  es- 
cape? Or  was  it  born  of  treachery?  Not  for  an  instant 
did  I  question  her  —  the  purity  and  truth  of  her  pur- 
pose—  but  Simon  Girty.  Why  should  he  scheme  to- 
help  us?  Never  before  had  I  heard  his  name  spoken 
as  any  harbinger  of  mercy  to  the  frontier.  I  recalled 
his  ugly  face,  his  narrow,  furtive  eyes,  and  my  doubt 
of  him  increased.  The  plan  was  too  easy,  too  well  oiled, 
to  be  altogether  natural.  And  Girty  himself  had  pro- 
posed it,  had  outlined  all  its  details  to  her,  and  found 
a  way  whereby  she  might  come  to  us  safely.  And  Ham- 

[369] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


ilton  had  left  the  camp ;  ay !  no  doubt  he  had,  but  not 
without  leaving  his  orders  behind  him. 

I  shook  Brady  awake,  told  him  all  that  had  occurred, 
so  far  as  related  to  our  effort,  but  without  voicing  my 
suspicion.  I  would  have  his  judgment  first.  He  sat 
a  long  time  in  silence. 

"  You  trust  the  girl,  no  doubt  ?  " 

"  Always !  she  cannot  lie." 

"  I  thought  as  much,"  a  faint  smile  in  his  eyes.  "  So 
do  I,  Hayward ;  but  not  Girty.  I  '11  be  plain  with  you, 
but  I  like  not  the  plan ;  't  is  too  easily  arranged." 

"  So  I  thought;  yet  what  would  be  the  motive?  " 

"  To  put  us  safely  out  of  the  way ;  killed  while  trying 
to  escape  would  be  a  simple  manner  of  ending  the  whole 
case.  Hamilton  has  the  brains  to  plan,  and  the  adroit- 
ness to  keep  out  of  it,  and  he  had  an  able  assistant  to 
aid.  'T  is  work  Simon  Girty  would  enjoy.  You  prom- 
ised her  we  would  go  ?  " 

"  What  else  could  I  do  ?  Besides  it  never  occurred  to 
me  until  she  had  gone  that  there  might  be  a  lie  in  it." 

"  No,  I  suppose  not,"  dryly,  and  he  got  to  his  feet, 
both  hands  on  my  shoulders.  "  Then  we  must  go,  lad," 
he  said  with  conviction.  "  We  cannot  fail  her,  and  it 
may  be  the  plan  was  conceived  in  honor.  The  man 
saved  my  life,  and  may  not  be  altogether  a  fiend,  yet 
I  have  small  faith  as  to  that." 

[370] 


The  Escape 

"  You  will  risk  the  venture  ?  " 

"  Ay !  the  chance  is  better  than  none,  and  other  lives 
than  ours  hang  in  the  balance.  Even  if  it  be  treachery, 
we  may  outwit  them.  We  will  take  a  different  road 
from  the  one  ordained.  It  pains  me  to  talk,  lad,  but 
listen,  and  then  get  ready.  I  may  not  have  blood  enough 
left  in  me  for  this  job,  but  you  have  youth  and  strength. 
The  news  we  have  must  reach  St.  Clair.  We  '11  go  to- 
gether when  the  signal  comes.  If  there  be  an  ambus- 
cade it  will  not  be  here,  but  lower  down.  The  way 
leading  from  the  lodge  will  be  left  open  —  they  would 
trap  us  farther  away,  so  as  to  give  better  point  to  their 
story." 

He  paused  a  moment,  holding  a  hand  against  his 
shattered  jaw. 

"  We  '11  use  this  to  make  sure  how  the  land  lays. 
We  '11  not  go  down  the  stream  under  the  bank  shadow  — 
we  '11  cross  over.  You  swim  ?  " 

"  You  need  not  doubt  that." 

"  Good !  Once  across  unobserved  we  have  the  ad- 
vantage. The  woods,  if  I  remember  right,  come  down 
to  the  shore  line,  and  over  here  there  are  fires  burning, 
all  up  and  down  the  river.  We  can  skulk  in  the  dark, 
and  use  our  eyes.  If  it  be  still,  with  no  movement,  we 
will  trust  the  word  sent,  and  seek  the  boat.  If  we  dis- 
cover treachery  we  must  try  passage  overland  through 

[371] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


the  woods.    With  God's  help  we  might  throw  those  red 
devils  off  our  trail.    Are  you  of  a  mind  to  try  it?  " 

Our  hands  gripped,  and  we  looked  into  each  other's 
faces. 

"  I  would  be  a  dastard  else,"  I  said  shortly.  "  You 
can  count  on  me,  Stephen  Brady." 

There  was  little  we  could  do,  nor  much  use  of  further 
planning.  Except  silently  to  loosen  the  skins  to  enable 
us  to  creep  through,  and  make  sure  of  our  moccasins, 
no  preparation  was  required.  We  could  only  sit  there 
grimly  in  the  dark,  striving  to  distinguish  the  noises 
outside,  and  listening  for  the  signal.  'T  was  a  long  two 
hours,  and  my  thought  centered  about  Rene.  What 
would  happen  to  her  if  this  was  treachery?  Hamilton 
might  use  her  as  an  innocent  tool,  but  would  he  pardon 
her  purpose?  I  put  the  question  to  my  companion. 

"  'T  is  been  also  in  my  mind,  Hayward,"  he  confessed 
slowly.  "  I  fear  it  may  be  bad  for  the  girl." 

"  She  would  not  go  with  us." 

«  You  asked  her?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  urged  it." 

"  Then  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  done."  He 
reached  over,  and  touched  me.  "  The  work  before  us 
is  too  serious,  lad,  to  let  that  interfere.  Do  not  imagine 
she  will  suffer  greatly.  Hamilton  would  not  dare  —  it 
would  cost  him  the  alliance  of  the  Wyandots." 

[372] 


The  Escape 

Twice  we  started  at  the  distant  hoot  of  an  owl,  but  it 
was  not  repeated.  Then,  at  last,  the  signal  came,  sound- 
ing near  at  hand,  from  somewhere  down  the  stream. 
Brady  went  first,  worming  his  way  silently  beneath  the 
flap,  and,  the  instant  he  disappeared,  I  followed.  There 
was  a  slight  gully  to  our  left,  and  we  crept  into  it,  keep- 
ing down  out  of  the  gleam  of  fire.  We  neither  saw  nor 
heard  any  guard,  except  the  fellow  in  front,  who  stood 
with  back  turned  toward  us,  silhouetted  between  us  and 
the  blaze.  On  the  other  side  of  the  fire  was  a  group  of 
savages,  two  of  them  beating  drums  discordantly.  A 
white  man,  in  fringed  coat  of  brown  leather,  came  out 
of  the  shadows  beyond,  spoke  to  one  of  the  Indians, 
and  passed  on.  Brady,  his  head  uplifted  watchfully, 
waited  until  the  fellow  disappeared,  and  then  began  to 
creep  down  toward  the  river.  Lying  side  by  side  at  the 
edge  of  the  water  he  put  his  lips  close  to  my  ear. 

"  On  your  back,  lad,  with  only  the  nose  out ;  stroke 
easy,  and  let  the  current  carry  you  down." 

He  lowered  himself  into  the  stream,  which  was  deep 
to  the  shore,  as  silently  as  a  ghost.  A  dozen  feet  away 
I  lost  sight  of  him  entirely  amid  the  dim,  dancing  shad- 
ows. Then  I  followed  with  equal  caution,  my  face 
turned  up  to  the  sky.  It  was  a  dark  night,  but  with  a 
few  stars  visible  peeping  down  through  rifts  of  cloud. 
The  small  river  was  not  wide,  nor  the  current  particu- 

[373] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


larly  swift,  and  I  had  not  been  carried  far  down  stream 
when  the  overhanging  branches  of  the  opposite  bank 
gave  shelter.  I  drew  myself  ashore,  and  sat  there,  shiv- 
ering in  my  wet  clothes,  the  night  air  chill,  and  stared 
anxiously  about,  and  across  to  the  shore  we  had  just 
left.  The  heavy,  dark  woods  were  silent;  I  could  hear 
a  scurrying  in  the  bushes  at  the  top  of  the  bank,  but  it 
was  only  the  frightened  flight  of  some  startled  wild 
animal.  Across  the  river  I  could  perceive  the  red  glow 
of  a  dozen  fires,  the  most  of  them  mere  twinkling  lights 
well  back  in  the  wood  shadows.  Those  nearer  the  stream 
reflected  across  the  running  water  in  varied  tints  of  col- 
oring. There  was  much  noise  echoing  through  the 
nigiit,  all  blending  into  discord,  shouts,  a  medley  of 
voices,  the  beating  of  tom-toms,  the  clink  of  steel  on 
steel.  Here  and  there,  outlined  in  some  circle  of  light, 
dark,  indistinct  figures  appeared  and  vanished.  But 
there  was  no  sign  of  alarm,  or  excitement. 

I  moved  down  the  shore  cautiously,  keeping  well 
below  the  concealing  bank  until  I  found  Brady.  He  was 
crouched  in  the  shadow  of  a  great  tree  root,  his  whole 
attention  riveted  on  the  opposite  side. 

"  There  are  no  signs  of  pursuit?  " 

"  Not  that  I  can  see.  I  have  watched  here  some  min- 
utes, but  there  has  been  no  movement  along  the  bank. 
We  will  move  on  down  stream." 

[374] 


The  Escape 

It  was  hard  walking  amid  the  tangled  roots,  and 
we  made  slow  work  of  it.  Brady,  in  advance,  stumbled 
once  or  twice,  and,  I  noticed,  held  one  hand  pressed 
against  his  side  as  though  from  pain,  breathing  heavily. 
To  our  left,  but  some  distance  away,  a  voice  called,  and 
was  answered  by  another.  So,  toiling  on,  we  came  to  a 
sharp  bend  in  the  stream. 

"  It  must  be  about  opposite  here,  Hayward,"  he  said 
stopping,  "  the  girl  told  you  the  boat  would  be.  What 
is  that  lumping  shadow  yonder?  Your  eyes  are  younger 
than  mine." 

I  looked  where  he  pointed,  shading  my  eyes,  and 
gradually  focusing  the  outlines  until  they  assumed 
definite  shape. 

"  It  is  a  big  tree  bent  down  over  the  river ;  no  doubt 
the  one  she  meant." 

"  You  see  no  movement  ?  " 

I  strained  my  eyes,  searching  the  dark  shore  inch  by 
inch,  but  could  perceive  nothing;  the  lights  of  the  fires 
were  far  away. 

"  It  is  still  as  death  over  there." 

He  shot  a  swift  glance  at  me,  as  if  the  words  pleased 
him  little.  In  the  dim  starshine  his  face  appeared 
ghastly  white. 

"  Perhaps  the  days  of  miracles  are  not  gone,"  he 
said  doubtfully,  "  and  Girty  may  have  played  fair* 

[375] 


__________________________________ 

The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


Anyhow  there  is  nothing  to  be  done  now  but  test  it. 
Come  on,  lad ;  we  '11  take  to  water  again." 

The  cheerful  note  in  his  voice  bolstered  my  own  cour- 
age. We  swam  straight  this  time,  with  steady  stroke, 
our  eyes  scanning  the  bank  we  were  approaching.  The 
forest  shadows  overhung  the  water  almost  from  shore 
to  shore,  and  even  if  there  were  watchers  there,  we  were 
not  likely  to  be  seen.  And  the  canoe  was  there,  smug- 
gled under  the  leaning  tree,  bow  to  bank,  rendered  shape- 
less by  a  covering  of  broken  branches.  We  lay  hold  of 
the  sides,  standing  waist  deep  in  water,  our  eyes  search- 
ing the  high  bank  towering  dark  above  us.  There  was 
no  movement,  no  sound,  and  I  lowered  the  branches 
one  by  one  into  the  water,  and  permitted  them  to  float 
silently  down  stream.  As  the  last  one  was  released, 
Brady  seemed  to  lose  his  hold  on  the  canoe,  his  lips 
uttering  a  low  moan,  and  he  staggered  toward  me.  I 
caught,  and  held  him  up  above  the  water  till  he  recov- 
ered from  his  faintness. 

"  What  is  it?    Are  you  ill?  " 

"  I  —  I  hardly  know,"  he  managed  to  answer,  the 
words  barely  audible.  "  There  is  such  pain  in  my  side ; 
I  must  have  been  more  badly  hurt  than  I  thought,  and 
—  and  I  shake  with  chill." 

"  You  must  n't  give  up  now,  Brady ;  here,  let  me  get 
you  into  the  canoe." 

[376] 


The  Escape 

"  No,"  he  protested.  "  Leave  me  alone  on  the  bank, 
and  go  on.  It  is  jour  only  hope." 

"  I  will  not,"  I  said  indignantly.  "  You  '11  be  all  right 
tomorrow.  Put  your  hands  on  my  shoulders  —  so !  " 

He  was  a  heavy  man,  but  I  lifted  him  by  sheer 
bodily  strength,  forcing  him  over  the  side  until  he  rested 
at  full  length  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe.  His  eyes 
followed  my  movements  appealingly. 

"Is  that  easy?" 

"  Ay !  but  you  '11  be  sorry  for  it.  Faith,  yer  a  strong 
lad." 

I  stood  up  in  the  water,  wondering  if  the  slight  noise 
we  had  made  had  created  alarm.  Nothing  reached  my 
ears  but  the  murmur  of  the  stream  and  the  rustle  of 
leaves.  Then  surely  there  were  no  Indians  near  by  — 
another  moment's  delay  could  not  increase  our  danger. 
I  searched  with  my  eyes  the  dark  gloom  of  the  shore, 
memory  reverting  to  Mademoiselle.  Where  would  she 
be?  Had  she  fled  as  soon  as  she  had  given  the  signal? 
Would  it  be  in  her  heart  to  let  me  go  without  another 
word?  That  would  not  be  like  the  girl.  More  probable 
far  that  she  was  somewhere  at  hand  watching,  waiting 
for  us  to  appear  along  that  black  shore.  I  could  almost 
feel  her  presence. 

"  Brady,"  I  whispered.  "  I  am  going  to  scout  this 
bank  a  minute.  You  lie  still." 

[377] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


He  did  not  answer,  and  I  bent  lower.  His  eyes  were 
closed.  Concealed  by  the  shade  of  the  great  tree  I 
waded  cautiously  ashore  and  crept  out  into  a  maze  of 
roots.  The  higher  bank  rose  sheer  before  me.  To  the 
right  there  was  an  opening,  as  if  a  trail  led  down  to  the 
river,  and  revealed  there  against  the  upper  sky,  some- 
thing moved.  For  an  instant  I  could  tell  no  more ;  then 
I  recognized  a  human  figure  stealing  cautiously  toward 
me  through  the  gloom.  It  moved  silently  as  a  spirit, 
and  my  heart  beat  fiercely  as  I  rose  up  and  stared. 
She  was  close  upon  me  before  I  was  sure. 

"  Rene." 

"  Oh,"  a  little  catch  in  the  quick  whisper ;  "  then  — 
then  it  is  you;  how  —  how  did  you  come  here?  " 

I  drew  her  back  into  the  deeper  shadow,  and  told  her 
the  brief  story  in  swift  words,  clinging  to  her  hands, 
as  I  held  her  close.  I  could  not  distinguish  her  face, 
but  she  listened,  her  soft  breath  on  my  cheek. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  glad  —  so  glad,  Monsieur.  I  did  not 
know  until  after  I  gave  the  signal.  I  —  I  came  down 
here  to  be  sure  —  to,  to  say  good-by,"  she  faltered, 
'*  and  —  and  saw  them  waiting." 

"Then  it  was  treachery?  The  purpose  was  to  kill 
us?  Girtylied?" 

"  Yes,  Monsieur.  You  —  you  will  not  believe  I  knew  ? 
That  I  suspected  such  a  thing?  " 

[378] 


The  Escape 

My  handclasp  tightened. 

"  No,  dear,  no ;  go  on.     Where  are  the  men  ?  " 

"  Most  of  them,  ten  or  twelve  as  near  as  I  could  make 
out,  are  in  a  ravine  at  the  edge  of  the  camp,  yonder 
close  to  the  shore.  There  are  three  others  up  above 
here,  hiding  behind  the  bank." 

"  I  see ;  the  attack  was  to  be  made  by  those  above 
as  we  crept  along,  and  if  either  of  us  got  away  those 
three  devils  were  to  complete  the  job." 

The  cold-bloodiness  of  the  arrangement,  the  cowardly 
treachery,  the  making  of  her  a  tool  in  the  foul  plan, 
swept  over  me  with  sudden  force.  For  the  moment  I  was 
conscious  only  of  fierce  anger,  a  desire  for  revenge. 

"  Where  are  they  now,  the  three?  " 

"  To  the  left,  Monsieur,  near  where  that  lonely  tree 
stands.  I  had  to  creep  down  the  trail  so  as  not  to  be 
seen." 

"  They  can  be  seen  from  there  ?  " 

"  If  you  know  where  to  look;  they  appear  just  black 
blotches  on  the  ground." 

I  made  quick  resolve,  casting  caution  to  the  winds. 

"  Stay  here  in  the  shadow,  Rene,"  I  said,  thrusting 
her  back.  "  I  will  see  for  myself." 

"  Monsieur  —  " 

"  I  will  do  nothing  rash,  never  fear.  Wait  here  for 
me  until  I  come." 

[379] 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

IN   THE   WOODS 

"1  1  7ITH  my  body  still  below  in  the  narrow  trail  I 
could  distinguish  the  three  dim  forms  at  the 
summit  of  the  bank.  They  might  have  been  several  rods 
distant,  but  were  discernible.  I  had  performed  some 
swift  thinking  in  the  last  five  minutes,  and  had  decided 
what  should  be  done  —  Rene  should  not  be  left  behind 
to  meet  Hamilton's  vengeance,  nor  were  these  fellows 
going  to  escape  scot  free.  How  I  was  going  to  accom- 
plish all  this  I  did  not  in  the  least  know,  but,  God  guid- 
ing, there  would  be  found  a  way.  I  stood  there,  striv- 
ing to  determine  how  best  to  attain  to  the  rear  of  the 
three,  when  some  voice  spoke  in  the  Indian  tongue,  and 
the  fellow  nearest  me,  as  if  in  response  to  an  order, 
rose  to  his  feet  and  advanced  in  my  direction.  I 
crouched  down,  my  heart  throbbing  joyously,  watching 
him  approach.  He  had  covered  half  the  distance,  when 
the  voice  spoke  again,  and  the  second  man  also  stood  up. 
I  dropped  silently  back  into  the  darker  shadow,  planted 
my  feet  firmly  in  the  soft  earth,  my  body  poised  and 
ready. 

The  fellow  came  noiselessly  along  the  bank  in  his 
[381] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


moccasins,  but  evidently  without  fear  or  caution.  Sud- 
denly his  form  blotted  out  the  strip  of  sky  as  he  stepped 
carelessly  into  the  trail  and  began  the  descent.  He 
looked  a  big  savage,  his  war-bonnet  giving  him  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  giant.  There  was  a  blanket  about  his 
shoulders,  and  he  held  a  gun  clasped  close  to  his  body. 
I  do  not  think  he  even  saw  me,  but  my  blow  landed 
squarely  on  his  chin,  and  he  went  over  as  if  struck  by 
a  pole  axe,  his  arms  flung  out,  the  gun  splashing  the 
edge  of  the  water.  And  there  he  lay  without  so  much  as 
a  quiver. 

I  stepped  back  hastily  into  cover,  rubbing  my 
knuckles,  and  bracing  for  the  next.  No  doubt  the  near- 
est savage  had  heard  the  sound  of  the  blow  or  the  fall- 
ing body.  He  came  forward  cautiously,  peering  down 
into  the  dense  darkness  below  before  venturing  the 
descent.  Yet  he  neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  to 
alarm,  and  finally  started  downward,  one  hand  steady- 
ing himself  against  the  bank,  as  his  feet  felt  for  lodg- 
ment. He  also  was  an  Indian,  a  young,  slender  warrior 
from  what  little  I  could  see,  with  only  a  feather  in  his 
hair,  naked  to  the  waist.  He  was  opposite  me,  his  head 
turned  aside,  as  he  gazed  up  stream,  when  my  arm  shot 
straight  out,  the  clinched  fist  taking  him  behind  the 
ear.  He  gave  vent  to  one  stifled  moan,  his  body  shutting 
up  like  a  jack  knife. 

[382] 


In  the  Woods 


"What's  all  that  noise?"  asked  a  voice  sharply  in 
English.  "  Come,  what 's  goin*  on  down  there?  " 

I  held  my  breath;  heaven  be  praised,  it  was  Girty. 
I  thought  he  would  never  come.  I  stood  expectant,  not 
daring  to  move  a  muscle,  while  he  peered  down  the  dark 
slope,  and  cursed  the  Indians  for  their  failure  to  answer. 
The  silence  seemed  to  anger  him,  for  he  jumped  from  the 
bank,  landing  in  the  path  directly  in  front  of  where  I 
stood.  He  saw  me,  and  flung  up  one  hand,  but  my  blow 
crashed  through  his  guard  and  landed.  Never  did  I 
strike  harder,  and  had  it  hit  squarely  Simon  Girty  would 
have  known  no  more.  But  his  upraised  arm  saved  him. 
With  a  grunt  of  fear  and  pain  he  went  staggering  back, 
tripped  over  the  big  savage,  and  fell  headlong.  I  saw 
him  struggle  to  rise,  leaped  forward  and  gripped  him. 
With  one  swing  about  my  head  I  sent  him  flinging  out 
into  the  water. 

God  knows  what  became  of  him.  I  do  not.  Whether 
he  sank,  or  whether  he  made  shore,  I  did  not  wait  to  see. 
There  was  enough  else  for  me  to  do,  and,  without  so 
much  as  glancing  toward  where  he  went  splashing  down, 
emitting  a  yell  of  terror,  I  seized  the  gun  lying  beside 
the  water,  stripped  the  big  warrior  of  his  store  of  pow- 
der and  ball,  and  sprang  hastily  to  where  I  had  left 
Mademoiselle.  She  was  crouched  behind  the  great  tree, 
and  I  caught  her  by  the  arm. 

[383] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  You  must  get  into  the  canoe,  Rene,"  I  said  shortly. 
"  Come,  we  have  no  time  to  lose." 

"  I,  Monsieur?  " 

"  Yes,  you ;  I  am  not  going  to  leave  you  here  for 
Hamilton  to  wreak  his  rage  on.  There  is  no  time  to 
argue  now." 

"  But,  Monsieur  —  " 

"  Never  mind  that;  will  you  go  as  I  say?  " 

There  was  a  silvery  gleam  of  star  on  her  upturned 
face,  and  I  could  see  her  eyes,  startled,  puzzled,  half 
frightened,  gazing  up  into  mine.  Then  the  long  lashes 
drooped  over  them. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,"  she  said,  her  lips  trembling.  "  I 
will  go  with  you." 

I  am  not  going  to  set  down  here  the  story  of  that 
journey.  In  all  the  years  since  my  lips  have  never 
told  it  in  all  its  details,  nor  have  I  permitted  my  mind 
to  dwell  upon  those  days  and  nights,  save  in  moments 
of  loneliness  and  drifting  memory.  All  I  shall  attempt 
now  is  to  sketch  swiftly  those  incidents  which  affect  this 
tale.  We  were  off  on  the  black  water,  the  fragile  canoe 
leaping  to  the  sweep  of  my  paddle  and  the  pressure  of 
the  current.  The  great  trees  cast  shadows  from  bank 
to  bank,  and  we  must  have  vanished  like  an  arrow. 
Rene  sat  facing  me,  her  head  bent  low,  her  hands  grasp- 
ing either  side.  Only  once  did  I  note  her  glance  up, 
[384] 


WE  WERE   OFF    ON    THE    BLACK   WATER,   THE    FRAGILE    CANOE    LEAPING    TO    THE    SWEEP 

OF  MY  PADDLE. 

Page  384. 


In  the  Woods 


timidly,  as  if  the  fright  of  my  arbitrary  words  still 
lingered,  and  then  her  eyes  fell  again.  I  sent  the  leap- 
ing craft  a  half  mile,  a  mile,  reckless  of  the  pain  with 
which  I  gripped  the  paddle,  then  left  it  to  the  current 
while  I  held  my  bleeding,  swollen  hand  in  the  cool  water 
alongside.  Mademoiselle  again  looked  up. 

"  May  I  not  bind  it  up,  Monsieur?  " 

I  nodded,  wondering  at  her  words  and  manner,  the 
strange  shrinking  from  me  so  different  from  her  wont. 
She  dipped  a  cloth  in  the  river,  and  bound  it  about  the 
bruise,  wet  and  dripping,  fastening  it  in  some  way 
with  gentle  fingers. 

"  Shall  I  not  take  the  paddle,  Monsieur?  "  she  asked, 
but  still  with  bowed  head.  "  I  understand  its  use." 

"  No,  not  now ;  there  will  be  plenty  of  work  of  that 
sort  later.  Look  rather  to  Brady  there,  if  you  will; 
the  man  appears  in  bad  case." 

I  did  not  notice  much  of  what  she  did,  for  I  was  too 
busy  at  my  own  task,  baffled  often  by  the  sweep  of  the 
current  and  the  trees  leaning  out  over  the  water.  Yet 
she  turned  at  once,  as  if  my  words  were  an  order,  bal- 
ancing herself  skilfully  in  the  frail  craft.  When  I 
glanced  that  way  again  she  had  him  sitting  up,  with 
head  pillowed  on  her  shoulder,  and  a  blanket  at  his  back. 

"  How  are  you  feeling,  now,  friend?  "  I  questioned 
cheerfully.  "  In  less  pain  ?  " 

[385] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  A  bit,  yes,"  the  voice  strained  and  unnatural. 
"This  good  angel  here  has  done  her  work  well.  What 
has  occurred  since  I  slept,  Master  Hayward  ?  " 

I  told  him  as  well  as  I  could  but  doubt  if  he  under- 
stood much  of  it,  for  more  than  once  his  head  nodded, 
and  Rene  held  him  from  falling.  When  I  ended  the 
tale  he  said  nothing,  and  a  silence  fell  upon  us.  There 
was  no  stopping  that  night,  the  girl  and  I  taking  turns 
at  the  paddle,  although  I  did  the  most  of  it.  I  knew 
not  what  pursuit  there  might  be,  but  feared  the  worst. 
Once  I  asked  her  if  the  savages  had  other  canoes  at 
the  village,  but  she  did  not  know,  and  I  scarcely  think 
there  was  another  word  exchanged  between  us,  save  as 
we  shifted  places  in  the  boat.  Brady  slept  uneasily 
much  of  the  time,  moaning,  and  occasionally  speaking 
aloud.  When  I  touched  him  I  found  his  flesh  hot  and 
feverish. 

The  dawn  found  me  with  the  paddle,  but  Rene  still 
wide  awake.  There  was  a  thin,  gray  fog  over  the  river, 
which  turned  to  purple  as  the  light  strengthened,  and 
we  were  at  the  apex  of  a  great  bend,  the  course  of 
the  stream  ahead  leading  into  the  northwest.  That  was 
not  our  direction,  and  besides  I  felt  that  if  there  was 
pursuit  it  would  be  safer  far  ashore.  Just  as  the  sun 
broke  through  the  mist  we  came  unexpectedly  to  the 
mouth  of  a  small  stream  leading  into  the  main  river  from 

[386] 


In  the  Woods 


the  south.  So  thoroughly  was  it  concealed  by  a  thick 
growth  of  bushes,  that  we  would  have  slipped  by,  had  I 
not  been  skirting  the  shore  closely,  seeking  some  such 
opening.  I  headed  the  canoe  straight  in,  pressing  aside 
the  branches  to  gain  passage,  and  found  beyond  a  nar- 
row creek,  up  which  we  managed  to  paddle  for  several 
hundred  yards.  Then  I  stepped  overboard,  and 
dragged  the  light  craft  still  higher,  until  I  discovered  a 
place  of  concealment  behind  a  huge  rotting  log. 

Here  we  left  it,  Rene  and  I  bearing  with  us  the  guns 
and  our  small  store  of  provisions.  I  had  cut  a  cane  for 
Brady,  and,  with  its  help,  he  managed  to  get  along 
slowly,  although  sight  of  his  face  made  my  heart  ache. 
Thus  in  single  file  we  waded  up  the  tiny  stream,  until 
we  attained  a  ledge  of  rocks  where  our  feet  would  leave 
no  trail.  Over  these  we  toiled,  helping  each  other, 
until  we  came  to  the  upland,  into  an  open  forest,  car- 
peted with  autumn  leaves.  By  this  time  Brady  was  too 
exhausted  to  go  further,  sinking  helplessly  on  the 
ground.  Rene  also  looked  worn  and  heavy-eyed,  and 
I  had  no  heart  to  urge  them  on.  We  ate  sparsely  of 
what  food  we  had,  but  Brady  barely  touched  his  por- 
tion. I  wrapped  him  in  our  only  blanket,  and  the  three 
of  us  slept. 

The  sun  was  past  the  meridian  when  I  awoke  and 
called  the  others.  It  would  be  safer  farther  away  from 

[387] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


the  Maumco,  and  every  mile  gained  was  to  our  advan- 
tage. The  traveling  was  easy,  through  an  open  forest, 
with  firm  turf  underfoot,  yet  our  progress  was  pitifully 
slow.  I  loaded  myself  with  all  our  equipment,  leaving 
Rene  free  to  aid  Brady,  but  it  was  plain  to  be  seen  his 
every  step  was  painful.  Long  before  dark  we  were 
compelled  to  cease  the  effort  and  make  camp.  I  offered 
to  make  a  small  fire  so  that  he  could  have  warm  food, 
but  the  man  refused,  striving  to  smile  cheerfully,  as  he 
crunched  what  we  had  in  his  mouth.  His  cheeks 
burned  with  fever,  and  his  eyes  appeared  unnatural.  I 
gathered  dry  leaves  to  protect  us  from  the  chill  of  the 
night,  and  wrapped  him  securely  in  the  blanket.  Just 
before  dark  Rene  came  timidly  to  where  I  sat  alone, 
thinking  of  some  way  of  escape. 

"  Monsieur." 

"  Yes,"  I  looked  up,  but  her  eyes  failed  to  meet  mine. 

"  Monsieur  Brady  would  speak  with  you." 

I  got  up,  yet  paused  a  moment  hesitating. 

"  What  is  it,  Rene?    Are  you  afraid  of  me?  " 

"  No,  Monsieur ;  you  are  very  good.  Why  you  ask 
that?  " 

I  laughed,  but  still  unsatisfied. 

"  I  hardly  know  myself.  Probably  I  imagine  things, 
but  it  seems  to  me  you  act  different  of  late.  Are  you 
sure  you  are  the  same  ?  " 

[388] 


In  the  Woods 


The  lowered  lashes  lifted  just  a  little,  so  I  had  glimpse 
of  the  eyes  below. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur,  I  am  the  same." 

I  went  across  to  where  Brady  lay  and  sat  down  beside 
him.  How  tired  his  eyes  looked,  and  his  face  was  drawn 
and  white,  no  flush  now  in  his  cheeks. 

"You  sent  for  me?" 

"  Yes,  Hayward,"  slowly,  with  difficulty  making  his 
words  clear.  "  Lift  me  a  little  against  this  tree ;  I  can 
speak  easier.  Yes,  that  will  do,  lad.  I  called  you  so  I 
could  say  that  I  realize  the  awful  position  my  illness 
places  you  in.  I  ought  not  to  have  come,  nor  would  I 
had  I  known  I  was  so  badly  hurt.  I  thought  the  pain 
would  wear  away  once  I  was  in  the  open,  but  —  but  it 
gets  worse." 

"  It  is  in  your  side?  " 

"  Yes ;  there  is  no  mark  of  a  wound,  and  I  cannot 
understand  the  trouble.  I  ran  the  gauntlet  on  the 
island,  and  was  often  struck,  but  did  not  realize  the 
blows  had  greatly  injured  me.  One  must  have  been 
serious.  Now  hear  me,  lad  —  it  is  not  right  that  you 
should  remain  here  longer  with  me.  I  cannot  go  on, 
and  you  must  think  of  those  others  whose  lives  depend 
on  your  warning.  I  am  nothing;  I  am  an  old  man, 
't  is  not  likely  I  will  live  through  this.  You  must  leave 
me  here  and  go." 

[389] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"You  think  I  will?" 

"  There  is  nothing  else  to  do;  it  is  duty." 

"  Brady,"  I  said  gravely,  "  you  have  been  a  good 
comrade  to  me,  and  I  '11  not  leave  you  to  perish  in  this 
wilderness.  You  waste  your  breath  asking  such  a 
thing.  You  would  never  desert  me ;  no !  we  face  it  out 
together." 

"But  the  girl?" 

"  She  would  answer  as  I  do.  There  is  no  need  that  I 
ask  her.  Come,  man,  get  a  good  night's  rest,  and  we 
will  try  it  again.  The  morning  may  find  you  strong  and 
ready." 

He  shook  his  head,  his  eyes  on  my  face,  as  if  he 
would  read  there  some  hesitancy.  Then  he  extended 
his  hand,  and  gripped  mine. 

"  You  are  a  brave  lad,  and  a  good  stout  heart,"  he 
whispered  brokenly.  "  Help  me  to  lie  down  again,  and 
we  '11  try  another  day." 

It  was  a  bright,  crisp  morning,  but  it  brought  little 
of  encouragement  with  it.  We  traveled  but  two  hours 
in  the  morning,  and  even  less  in  the  afternoon.  It  made 
my  heart  bleed  to  see  him  try,  and  Rene  begged  that  we 
go  no  further.  Leaving  her  to  gather  together  leaves 
for  the  night,  and  build  a  windbreak  with  interlaced 
branches,  I  set  off  alone  up  the  bank  of  a  considerable 
stream  beside  which  we  had  made  camp.  Some  miles 

[390] 


In  the  Woods 


away  I  ventured  to  use  my  gun,  and  came  back  before 
dark  with  a  wild  turkey.  In  the  depths  of  a  ravine,  I 
built  a  small  fire,  using  the  driest  wood  I  could  find, 
cooked  the  bird,  and  brought  to  Brady  some  hot  broth. 
He  ate  it  with  relish,  smoked  a  pipe,  and  lay  down. 
We  both  sat  beside  him  for  some  time,  encouraged  by 
the  belief  that  the  man  was  really  better.  He  appeared 
to  be  out  of  pain,  and  talked  much,  dwelling  upon  the 
days  of  his  boyhood,  and  describing  his  earlier  exploits 
in  the  woods.  At  the  end  he  shook  hands  with  us  both, 
and  spoke  cheerfully  of  the  morrow.  I  wrapped  him  in 
the  blanket,  and  covered  him  with  leaves.  It  was  with 
almost  a  light  heart  that  I  fell  asleep. 


[391] 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

BEFORE   ST.    CLAIR 

T  T  was  the  gray  dawn  when  Mademoiselle  awoke  me, 
shaking  me  soundly  ere  I  could  be  aroused.  That 
something  was  wrong  I  perceived  instantly  from  the 
expression  of  her  face,  and  sat  up,  glancing  hastily 
about,  expecting  the  approach  of  savages. 

"What  is  it?" 

"  He  is  gone,  Monsieur !     Monsieur  Brady  is  gone." 

"  Gone !  you  mean  left  camp.  Why  that  is  impos- 
sible ;  he  could  barely  walk." 

"  But  he  is  not  here,  Monsieur,"  she  insisted.  "  See : 
it  was  there  he  lay.  I  will  tell  you  all  I  know.  I  woke 
up  in  the  night  and  thought  of  him,  of  how  hard  it  was 
for  so  strong  a  man  to  be  so  weak  and  ill.  Then  I  got 
up  and  went  over  quietly  to  be  sure  he  was  all  right. 
But  he  was  awake,  Monsieur,  staring  up  at  the  sky  with 
eyes  wide  open.  He  saw  me,  and  said  he  was  nervous 
and  could  not  sleep.  No,  he  told  me  he  was  not  in  pain, 
but  complained  of  being  cold.  I  spread  more  leaves 
over  him,  and  he  said  that  was  better.  Then  —  then 
he  took  my  hand  and  kissed  it,  and  begged  me  to  go  back 
and  —  and  lie  down.  He  was  very  nice  and  gentle,  and 

[393] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


smiled  at  me.  So  I  went  back,  and  crept  into  my  leaves, 
and  tried  to  sleep.  He  did  not  move,  yet  I  lay  there  a 
long  while  thinking.  I  —  think  I  cried  a  little,  Mon- 
sieur, for  I  felt  so  sorry.  At  last  I  slept  again.  It  was 
just  a  little  light  when  I  awoke  once  more,  and  my  first 
memory  was  of  him.  I  went  over  there  and  —  and  he 
was  gone.  I  could  see  where  he  had  rested  in  the  leaves, 
and  the  blanket  on  the  ground,  but  —  but  he  was  not 
there.  I  sought  for  him,  but  there  was  no  trace  — 
nothing.  So  I  came  and  woke  you." 

I  was  on  my  feet,  a  feeling  of  dread  tugging  at  my 
heart.  I  felt  that  I  already  knew  what  had  happened, 
yet  I  could  not  tell  her  —  not  now,  not  until  I  was  sure. 

"  He  could  not  have  gone  far,  Rene,"  I  said  hastily. 
"  Perhaps  to  the  river  for  a  drink.  Come,  we  will  see." 

The  ground  about  the  camp  had  been  so  trampled  by 
our  feet  that,  at  first,  I  could  not  pick  up  the  trail. 
Finally,  taking  a  wider  circle,  I  came  upon  softer  soil 
and  the  imprint  of  his  moccasins.  I  knew  they  were  his 
because  of  one  foot  dragging,  and  the  impression  of  his 
cane.  They  led  down  toward  the  river,  and  I  followed 
swiftly,  the  girl  close  behind,  until  we  stood  at  the  edge 
of  the  stream.  The  man's  trail  ended  there.  I  ex- 
plored the  bank  for  some  distance  up  and  down,  but 
without  result.  There  were  tears  glimmering  in  Rene's 
eyes,  as  I  came  back  —  she  also  was  beginning  to  under- 

[394] 


Before  St.  Clear 


stand.  Without  a  word  I  waded  out  into  the  water,  and 
swam  across  to  the  other  shore.  There  was  nothing 
there  —  no  sign,  no  mark  of  any  description  —  and  I 
came  back  to  where  she  waited,  wading  out  with  drip- 
ping garments  to  the  bank. 

"There  —  there  was  nothing,  Monsieur?" 

"  Nothing,"  I  answered  gravely.  "  He  has  not 
crossed  over,"  I  hesitated  an  instant,  but  could  not  resist 
the  questioning  horror  in  her  eyes.  "  You  understand, 
do  you  not?  " 

"  You  —  you  think,"  she  faltered,  "  that  Monsieur 
Brady  has  —  has  killed  himself?" 

"  He  has  given  his  life  for  others,  my  girl  —  for  you 
and  me,  and  those  soldiers  of  St.  Glair's.  Do  you 
remember  when  he  sent  for  me?  He  begged  me  then  to 
leave  him  and  go  on ;  he  asked  it  for  your  sake,  as  well 
as  theirs.  He  told  me  it  was  my  duty;  that  he  was 
old,  helpless,  and  his  wound  would  not  let  him  travel." 

"  And  you  refused  ?  " 

"  Ay !  I  would  not  think  of  it,  and  at  last,  he  prom- 
ised to  try  again.  It  —  it  never  occurred  to  me  that 
he  would  do  this." 

She  stood  a  moment,  silent,  tears  on  her  cheeks,  look- 
ing blindly  out  at  the  water.  Then  she  sank  upon  her 
knees,  holding  the  crucifix  against  her  face.  I  could 
see  the  movement  of  her  lips,  but  heard  nothing;  only  I 

[395] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


knew  she  prayed  for  his  soul,  and  my  own  eyes  were 
moist  as  I  knelt  beside  her.  Then  I  lifted  her  up  by  the 
hand,  and  we  went  back  up  the  hill  to  the  camp. 

There  was  nothing  to  hope  for  in  waiting,  and  all 
our  duty  lay  beyond.  Without  the  exchange  of  a 
word  we  packed  what  few  things  we  had,  and  started, 
following  the  bank  of  the  stream.  It  was  the  first  of 
many  days,  all  alike  full  of  hardship  and  peril.  Now 
and  then  we  came  to  open  land,  but  more  often  our 
course  lay  through  tangled  woods,  or  morasses  choked 
with  underbrush.  At  night  we  slept  beneath  leaves,  sel- 
dom venturing  upon  a  fire.  The  girl  bore  it  all  without 
complaint,  seldom  speaking  except  to  ask  some  question, 
and  ever  holding  me  aloof  in  some  strange,  silent  man- 
ner I  could  not  comprehend.  If  I  addressed  her  the 
answers  were  as  if  she  responded  to  an  order ;  nor  could 
I  read  aught  in  her  eyes  but  passive  obedience.  It  was 
not  often  I  caught  their  expression  at  all,  for  she  stood 
before  me  with  lowered  lids  and  lips  that  faltered.  At 
night  I  lay  awake,  listening  to  the  wild  life  of  the  great 
woods,  and  thought  of  why  she  had  so  changed.  The 
vivacious,  saucy  French  girl  had  vanished;  here  with 
me  was  the  silent,  obedient  Indian.  Ay,  perhaps  that 
was  it !  I  had  taken  her  by  force,  by  strength,  and  arbi- 
trary command.  She  had  witnessed  my  fight  on  the 
banks  of  the  Maumee,  she  had  seen  me  strike  down  the 

[396] 


Before  St.  Clear 


big  warrior,  and  fling  Girty  —  as  if  he  had  been  a  child 
—  far  out  into  the  river.  Then  I  had  come  direct  to 
her,  ordering  her  into  the  boat.  I  was  no  longer  the 
lover,  the  asker  of  a  favor.  I  was  the  conqueror,  com- 
manding obedience.  I  had  borne  her  away  with  me  as  a 
chief  might  the  maid  of  his  fancy.  I  had  taken  the  spoils 
of  battle.  The  very  act  had  reawakened  all  that  was 
Indian  within  her  —  the  old  environment,  the  old  life,  the 
old  subjugation  of  childhood  days  in  the  villages  of  the 
Wyandots,  revived  instantly.  She  was  an  Indian,  I  a 
white  man  who  had  conquered  —  who  demanded  her  life. 
She  had  come  because  she  must,  because  the  fates  had 
so  ordained.  I  was  to  her  a  master,  a  tyrant ;  my  word 
was  law,  her  part  obedience.  It  was  not  love,  but  fear, 
which  gave  me  such  control.  The  thought  shocked  me, 
yet  I  knew  it  must  be  true.  Nor  could  I  speak  the  sus- 
picion; I  know  not  why,  or  how,  yet  she  held  me  from 
her  as  if  there  were  an  invisible  barrier  between.  I  tried 
to  speak,  to  explain,  yet  failed,  fearful  of  what  she  might 
answer,  dreading  the  result.  If  love  had  fled  —  and  I 
was  not  even  sure  there  ever  had  been  love  —  I  shrank 
from  hearing  it  from  her  lips.  So  we  went  on  in  silence 
and  heartache,  along  the  dim  forest  aisles  —  she  the 
slave,  I  the  master.  Oh,  those  were  dreary  days,  long, 
lonely  nights,  as  I  watched  her,  anticipating  my  slight- 
est wish,  her  eyes  averted,  her  lips  trembling  as  she 

[397] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


answered  me.  Yet  I  dare  not  speak,  dare  not  hope 
even  —  to  her  my  protestations  might  be  mockery,  an 
insult  worse  by  far  than  mere  command.  She  could 
not  understand  honor  between  a  white  man  and  an 
Indian  maid. 

It  was  a  miracle  that  we  passed  those  leagues  in 
safety,  encountering  none  of  those  numerous  bands  of 
savages  which,  I  learned  later,  were  flocking  southward 
in  ever-increasing  force.  They  must  have  been  all  about 
us,  yet  in  some  way  we  passed  between.  No  doubt  this 
was  because  we  kept  from  off  the  trails,  traveling 
straight  through  the  woods  by  sun,  halting,  or  turning 
aside  at  the  slightest  sign.  We  saw  and  heard  Indians, 
but  kept  concealed  ourselves.  Once  we  heard  their  yell- 
ing in  our  rear,  and  once  several  shots  rang  out  at  some 
distance.  Hiding  on  the  banks  of  a  silvery  stream  we 
watched  a  band  of  Miamis  cross  a  mile  below,  and  one 
night  some  noise  aroused  me,  and  I  stared  out  through 
a  coverlet  of  dried  leaves  at  a  spectral  body  of  savages 
filing  past  in  the  gloom,  as  silent  as  phantoms.  There 
must  have  been  fifty  of  them,  but  they  disappeared  in 
the  dim  woods  ignorant  of  our  presence.  I  saw  Rene 
sit  up  after  they  had  gone,  and  then  steal  cautiously 
over  and  look  at  me.  I  lay  quiet  with  closed  eyes,  the 
horrid  suspicion  in  my  mind  that  she  contemplated 
flight;  that  she  meant  to  join  them.  Very  well,  let  her 

[398] 


Before  St.  Clear 


go,  if  that  was  all  she  cared ;  and  my  teeth  clinched,  as  I 
watched  her  under  lowered  lashes ;  I  would  not  lift  a 
hand  to  prevent.  But  the  girl  went  back  to  her  bed  of 
leaves  and  laid  down. 

It  was  a  raw  November  morning  that  we  came  unex- 
pectedly upon  St.  Clair's  outposts.  The  ground  was 
covered  with  snow,  and  the  little  pools  were  skimmed  over 
with  thin  ice.  It  had  been  too  cold  to  rest,  and  we  had 
walked  much  of  the  night,  afraid  to  build  a  fire.  Chilled 
to  the  marrow  by  the  icy  wind  that  swept  through  the 
trees  and  buffeted  us,  I  had  wrapped  the  girl  in  our 
only  blanket,  fastening  it  about  her  head  and  face,  hurt 
as  I  did  so  by  the  dumb,  patient,  bewildered  look  in  her 
eyes.  She  tried  to  protest,  yet  at  my  first  stern  word 
ceased  and  wrapped  herself  closely  in  the  folds.  We 
had  crossed  a  slight  depression,  skirting  an  opening  in 
the  woods,  advancing  with  some  caution  because  of  tram- 
pled places  observed  in  the  snow.  I  was  in  front  break- 
ing the  trail  that  she  might  have  easier  marching,  when 
suddenly  a  man  stepped  out  of  a  thicket,  and  with  gun 
at  my  breast  roughly  commanded  a  halt.  I  paused 
instantly,  uncertain  as  to  which  side  the  challenger  was 
on,  yet  a  glance  at  his  face  and  dress  reassured  me. 

"Who  are  yer?  an'  what  do  yer  want?"  he  asked 
suspiciously. 

"  I  am  an  officer  of  the  Fort  Harmar  garrison,"  I 
[399] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


answered,  "  with  news  from  the  North.  To  what  com- 
mand do  you  belong?  " 

"  The  Kentucky  militia,"  he  acknowledged  sullenly. 
"  Colonel  Oldham." 

"  Where  is  your  colonel  ?  " 

"  Back  yonder  on  that  rise  o'  ground;  you  kin  go  on, 
but  I  '11  keep  an  eye  on  yer." 

We  left  him,  following  the  direction  pointed  out, 
hearing  him  call  to  some  one  in  our  rear,  yet  paying  no 
heed.  The  very  ease  with  which  he  had  passed  us  on 
was  evidence  enough  of  lax  discipline,  and  small  con- 
ception of  the  danger  of  the  command.  There  was  a 
plain  track  through  the  snow,  which  led  to  a  camp  fire 
blazing  cheerily  in  a  grove  of  trees,  with  maybe  a  dozen 
men  clustered  about  it.  No  one  appeared  to  notice  us 
as  we  drew  near. 

"  Which  is  Colonel  Oldham  ?  "  I  asked,  glancing  about 
the  group.  One  stood  up,  a  smooth-faced,  ruddy- 
cheeked  man  of  fifty,  with  iron-gray  hair,  and  eyes  that 
looked  as  if  they  laughed  easily.  I  liked  him  at  first 
glance. 

"  That  is  my  name,"  he  said  shortly.  "  What  is  it? 
St.  Denis,  man ! "  as  his  glance  swept  over  me,  "  you 
look  as  if  you  had  been  far  from  the  settlements  and 
had  a  hard  trip." 

"  I  have,  sir ;  I  come  from  the  Maumee.  I  am  an 
[400  ] 


Before  St.  Clair 


officer  of  regulars  with  news  of  importance  for  St. 
Clair." 

Every  eye  was  on  me  now  and  Oldham  took  a  step 
nearer. 

"  The  Maumee !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Ay,  that  is  a 
journey.  News  for  St.  Clair,  you  say  —  what  news? 
There  was  a  rumor  down  below  that  the  Indians  of  the 
northwest  were  mustering.  Know  you  anything  of 
that?" 

"They  have  already  mustered,  sir.  I  was  at  their 
rendezvous.  Even  now  they  are  at  my  heels  —  the 
whole  of  them,  Shawnees,  Miamis,  Delawares,  Wyandots 
and,  for  all  I  know,  as  many  more.  There  are  white 
renegades  with  them,  and  English  officers  I  suspect  —  I 
saw  Hamilton  myself  on  the  Maumee,  and  he  evidently 
was  managing  affairs." 

There  was  a  muttering  of  voices,  and  Oldham  let  out 
an  oath. 

"  Well,  sir,  I  believe  it,  but  I  '11  be  hanged  if  you  can 
make  St.  Clair.  The  arrogant  old  fool  may  listen  to 
you,  but  I  doubt  even  that.  He  thinks  this  is  a  pleasure 
party  we  are  on.  What  do  you  think  he  did  a  week 
ago?" 

I  looked  at  him  uncomprehending,  stunned  by  such 
mutinous  words  openly  spoken. 

"  Sent  back  a  whole  regiment  of  regulars  on  a  wild 
[401] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


goose  chase  after  deserters,  and  we  within  fifty  miles  of 
the  Miami  towns." 

"  What  force  have  you  here  ?  " 

"  Less  than  fourteen  hundred  —  all  militia  but  one 
regiment.  From  the  Maumee,  Ensign?  and  did  you 
come  through  alone  with  that  squaw  ?  " 

I  glanced  back  at  her,  standing  silently  behind  me, 
the  blanket  drawn  over  her  head  and  face. 

"  Take  it  off,  Rene,"  I  said  quietly. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

Her  hands  obediently  threw  the  wrapping  aside,  per- 
mitting it  to  drape  over  her  shoulders.  She  lifted  her 
head,  and  stood  facing  them,  with  eyes  centering  upon 
Oldham.  He  gasped,  and  jerked  the  hat  from  off  his 
head. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  stammered.  "  A  white 
woman?  " 

"  A  French  girl,  sir,  whom  I  found  with  the  Wyan- 
dots.  Can  you  send  us  back  to  St.  Clair?  " 

He  stared  at  her  so  long,  hat  still  in  hand,  that  I 
thought  he  did  not  hear.  An  officer  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder  and  spoke  a  word. 

"  Ah,  yes,  certainly  —  St.  Clair.  At  once,  sir,  but  I 
do  n't  envy  you  your  reception.  By  Jove,  I  lost  my  wits 
seeing  such  a  woman  as  that  here  in  this  hole.  Some- 
one send  Masters  here." 

[402] 


Before  St.  Clazr 


He  came  quickly,  a  youngish  lad,  \vilh  white  hair 
and  eyebrows,  but  intelligent  face,  who  never  took  his 
eyes  off  Rene.  Oldham  spoke  brusquely. 

"  Take  this  officer  and  the  —  the  lady  to  General  St. 
Clair  at  once.  Tell  Butler  I  say  it  is  important,  that 
he  be  given  immediate  interview.  Here,  wait !  get  the 
lady  a  horse  somewhere.  Captain,  can  he  take  yours  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,  sir ;  I  will  fetch  the  animal." 

They  watched  us  depart  until  we  had  crossed  the 
ridge,  Masters  and  I  trudging  through  the  snow  at  the 
horse's  head.  Rene  had  drawn  up  her  blanket,  but  I 
could  see  her  eyes  watching  me,  when  I  glanced  around 
at  her.  It  was  not  long,  however,  until  we  came  out  of 
the  forest,  into  a  bit  of  lowland  near  the  river,  where  a 
dozen  tents,  grimy  and  dirty  looking,  stood  on  the  bank. 
There  were  soldiers  everywhere,  gathered  about  camp 
fires,  with  a  few  guards  patroling  beats  along  the  forest 
edge.  Masters  led  the  way  through  the  motley  crowd 
up  to  the  central  tent.  There  was  delay  there,  Rene 
sitting  motionless  in  the  saddle,  and  I  waiting  impa- 
tiently beside  her.  At  last  Masters  came  back. 

"  He  will  see  you,  sir." 

"  Very  well ;  are  there  any  women  in  camp  ?  " 

"  A  few,  sir ;  *  non-com  '  wives  mostly,  washerwomen 
and  cooks;  they  are  in  those  two  tents  there  —  the 
officers'  kitchens." 

[4031 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Take  the  lady  over  there,  and  leave  her  in  good 
hands.  Rene." 

She  looked  down  at  me. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  This  soldier  will  take  you  to«  some  women  who  will 
take  care  of  you  until  I  come.  You  will  wait  for  me." 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

I  waited  until  they  started,  and  then  advanced  to  the 
tent.  A  tall,  slender  man,  in  a  colonel's  uniform, 
pointed  the  way  within,  and  I  stepped  through  the 
narrow  opening.  The  interior  was  plain  —  a  bearskin 
stretched  on  the  ground;  two  officers  on  camp-stools 
against  the  canvas ;  a  sentry  beside  the  open  flap  stand- 
ing motionless ;  a  rude  table  of  one  unplaned  board,  and 
behind  it,  seated,  St.  Clair.  He  was  a  spare  man,  with 
broad  shoulders  and  prominent  nose,  wearing  a  long 
queue  of  thick,  gray  hair,  which  was  plainly  visible 
below  his  three-cornered  hat.  He  was  attired  in  blanket 
coat,  with  hood  dangling  down  his  back.  I  had  met  him 
once,  but  it  was  clear  he  retained  no  recollection  of  me, 
as  he  surveyed  me  coldly  across  the  table. 

"  Well,  sir,"  he  snapped,  "  Colonel  Oldham  says  you 
bring  news.  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Ensign  Hayward,  of  Fort  Harmar,"  I  answered, 
bringing  my  hand  up  in  salute.  "  I  was  sent  with  a 
message  to  the  Wyandots." 

[404] 


Before  St.  Clair 


The  stern  lines  of  his  face  broke  into  a  grim  smile. 

"  Ah,  yes,  I  recall  that.  One  of  Harmar's  fool 
notions.  Told  him  as  much  when  I  got  back.  Well, 
your  peace  offering  didn't  do  much  good,  did  it?  I 
hear  there  is  hell  brewing  in  those  north  woods." 

"  It  is  already  brewed,  sir.  The  tribes  have  got 
together  to  crush  you.  They  rendezvoused  on  the 
Maumee." 

"  Huh !  that  is  a  ways  away.  No  great  danger  from 
that  source  till  we  're  ready.  What  tribes  were  there, 
do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  saw  them,  sir ;  Wyandots,  Pottawattomies,  Shaw- 
nees,  Delawares  and  Miamis.  There  were  also  some 
Ojibwas,  and  a  sprinkling  of  others,  mostly  young 
warriors."  . 

"  Who  heads  the  conspiracy  ?  " 

"  Little  Turtle,  of  the  Miamis,  but  there  are  English- 
men with  them  also ;  Hamilton  himself  was  there." 

"  The  cursed  hound ;  so  you  were  there,  with  them, 
hey  ?  a  prisoner  ?  " 

"  Yes,  General ;  a  scout  named  Stephen  Brady  and 
I.  We  got  away  by  means  of  a  canoe  on  the  river." 

"  Where  is  Brady?    I  know  the  old  coon." 

"  He  died,  sir,  and  I  came  on  alone." 

No  one  spoke,  and  I  went  on. 

"  It  was  a  hard  journey,  and  there  were  many  delays 
[405] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


on  the  way.  I  came  as  quickly  as  I  could,  sir,  but  I 
do  n't  think  the  savages  are  far  behind." 

"  Oh,  do  n't  you,  indeed,"  sarcastically.  "  It  was 
not  advice  I  was  asking,  and  as  to  what  is  in  front 
of  us  my  own  scouts  keep  me  posted.  You  're  young, 
and  easily  frightened.  I  happen  to  know  there  is  n't  a 
hostile  Indian  within  fifty  miles  of  us  —  not  a  bloody 
one.  I  do  n't  care  what  they  do  up  on  the  Maumee. 
We  '11  go  on  to  the  Miami  towns  tomorrow,  raze  them, 
and  be  back  to  the  Ohio  before  that  bunch  gets  started. 
I  doubt  if  there  is  a  shot  fired.  It *s  all  a  big  bluff,  sir ; 
we  've  got  them  frightened  half  to  death.  I  wrote 
Washington  so  a  month  ago." 

I  stood  before  him,  stunned  and  bewildered  by  his 
obstinacy. 

"  Am  I  to  understand,  General  St.  Clair,  that  you 
question  the  accuracy  of  my  report?  " 

"  No,  sir !  "  his  cheeks  flushed.  "  Only,  my  young 
friend,  there  is  nothing  to  it.  This  expedition  is  not 
interested  in  what  Hamilton  is  doing  on  the  Maumee. 
He  does  n't  dare  attack  us  with  his  mongrel  savages. 
If  he  did  we  'd  give  him  a  belly  full,  and  a  fine  story  to 
send  back  to  England.  Come,  gentlemen,  let 's  get  to 
more  serious  affairs.  You  may  go,  sir." 

I  passed  out,  dazed,  unseeing.  So  this  was  the  man 
in  whose  hands  rested  the  fate  of  the  northwest.  This 

[406] 


Before  St.  Clair 


was  the  end  of  my  toil  and  suffering;  this  the  reward 
for  Brady's  death.  He  had  sneered  at  me,  turned  me 
away  with  a  laugh.  For  a  moment  I  stood  shaking 
from  head  to  foot;  then  hot  anger  seized  me,  and 
brought  me  back  to  life.  By  heaven !  he  would  learn 
yet  which  of  us  was  the  fool. 


14071 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 

THE   BATTLE   ON    THE   WABASH 

T  TE  had  not  even  assigned  me  to  service;  simply 
turned  me  adrift  to  go  where  I  pleased.  The 
implied  insult  cut  me  to  the  quick,  yet,  now  that  I  had 
taken  the  measure  of  the  man,  I  cared  little  enough  for 
his  good  opinion.  Very  well,  I  would  choose  my  own 
service  then  —  I  would  go  back  to  Oldham  and  his 
Kentucky  militia.  He  was  of  fighting  blood,  if  his  face 
spoke  truth,  and  his  command  was  stationed  where  they 
would  feel  the  first  shock  of  attack  whenever  it  came. 

With  mind  made  up,  I  strode  down  the  line,  past  where 
the  artillery  was  parked,  to  the  tent  Masters  had  pointed 
out  as  the  officers'  kitchen.  It  was  looped  up  at  the 
sides,  and  a  glance  within  revealed  Mademoiselle  perched 
on  a  low  bench,  her  eyes  following  the  movements  of  a 
woman  of  ample  proportions  who  was  bustling  about  a 
camp  stove.  The  girl  had  her  chin  in  her  hand,  her 
face  hidden,  the  blanket  still  wrapped  about  her  shoul- 
ders, but  the  woman  looked  up  from  her  work  and  saw 
me.  To  my  surprise  I  recognized  her. 

"  Is  it  you,  Mistress  McCarthy !  "  I  exclaimed,  glad 
enough  that  it  was.  "  How  happens  it  you  are  here?  " 

[409] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


"  Be  ther  wurst  o'  luck,  Mister  Hayward.  It 's  no 
Injun  foighter  Oi  am,  but  shure  Major  Butler  would  n't 
consint  ter  lave  me  behind  when  he  had  to  go.  He  sed 
I  was  as  fit  ter  die  as  iver  he  wus,  an'  he  did  n't  propose 
ter  be  starved  fer  the  sake  ov  me." 

"Butler?" 

"  Ther  same,  sorr ;  Major  Thomas  Butler  it  wos.  It 
is  ther  lost  year  Oi  've  bin  cookin'  fer  him,  iver  since  his 
woife  hed  ther  baby,  sorr,  an'  he  is  a  wee  bit  particular 
whut  he  eats." 

"  Oh,  I  see ;  you  are  here  as  cook.     Where  's  Dan  ?  " 

"  Back  wid  th'  rigiment,  sorr ;  ol'  St.  Clair  sent  'em 
ter  ther  rear  maybe  a  wake  ago.  It 's  him,  sorr,  that 
is  n't  afeerd  o'  Injuns." 

"  So  I  have  discovered."  I  glanced  at  Rene,  but  she 
was  not  looking  at  me.  "  Well,  I  'm  glad  you  are  here, 
Mistress  McCarthy.  I  can  trust  you  to  look  after  this 
girl." 

"  Yer  shure  kin,  sorr.  It 's  ther  best  o'  friends  we 
are  already.  Belike  she  wus  French  ?  " 

"Yes,  but  she  speaks  English  well.  Rene"."  She 
turned  her  face  toward  me,  and  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Mistress  McCarthy  here  is  an  old  acquaintance  of 
mine ;  her  husband  was  a  sergeant  in  my  company.  She 
will  look  after  you  until  I  come  back." 

[410] 


The  Battle  on  the  Wabash 


'  Yes,  Monsieur." 
"  You  will  stay  here  until  I  come  ?  " 


"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

It  was  maddening,  yet  I  knew  not  what  to  do  or  say. 
I  stood  a  moment  gazing  into  her  face,  but  the  long 
lashes  would  not  lift,  and  I  turned  away,  with  teeth 
clinched  to  keep  back  the  hot  words,  and  left  the  tent, 
never  glancing  back  as  I  crunched  my  way  through  the 
snow. 

Oldham  received  me  gladly,  and  about  the  fire  that 
night  I  told  of  my  reception  by  St.  Clair. 

"  Well,  I  warned  yer,  Hayward,"  the  Colonel  com- 
mented, chuckling.  "  I  know  the  bullet-headed  old  fool. 
I  reckon  he  '11  know  more  about  Injuns  in  a  day  or  two. 
Told  yer  he  had  his  scouts  out,  did  he?  Why,  man, 
there  is  n't  one  of  'em  been  ten  miles  from  the  column 
since  we  began  this  march;  isn't  that  so,  Captain? 
The  old  cock  does  n't  know  tonight  what 's  goin'  on  two 
hundred  yards  ahead  of  his  outposts."  He  got  up,  and 
stretched  out  his  arms.  "  And  so,  gentlemen,  we  march 
for  the  Miami  towns  in  the  morning.  Old  Cock-a- 
doodle-doo  says  so.  I  '11  wager  a  year's  pay  we  never 
get  there.  What !  no  takers  ?  Well,  I  'm  going  to 
bed." 

Why  should  I  attempt  to  describe  that  drear  battle 
on  the  east  fork  of  the  Wabash?  Many  another  has 

[411] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


done  it  already,  yet  few  tell  the  story  as  I  remember  it. 
Still  I  saw  but  little  —  flashes  here  and  there,  dim  pic- 
tures drawn  in  flame  and  obscured  by  smoke.  Today, 
as  I  look  back,  half  wondering  if  it  could  be  really  I 
who  witnessed,  there  is  little  but  confusion  to  recall — " 
wild  yells,  the  crack  of  rifles,  the  roar  of  the  big  guns, 
terrible  figures,  painted  black  and  red,  dancing  before 
us,  the  gleam  of  tomahawks,  the  dead  forms  at  our  feet, 
the  shrieks  of  the  wounded,  the  faces  ghastly  with  terror. 
These  are  the  sights  and  sounds  that  remain  in  memory, 
haunting  me  even  yet. 

We  were  up  at  dawn,  but  for  no  purpose,  so  far  as  I 
could  see,  unless  it  was  to  idle  through  a  leisurely  break- 
fast. I  had  finished  mine,  and  was  smoking,  cuddled 
close  to  the  fire,  when  the  storm  broke.  Our  outposts 
could  not  have  been  a  hundred  yards  in  advance,  or  else 
they  ran  without  firing  a  shot,  for  the  red  devils  burst 
on  us  without  slightest  warning.  I  heard  a  hoarse  shout 
of  alarm,  then  whoops  and  yells,  such  as  would  strike 
terror  to  the  bravest.  I  was  on  my  feet,  gripping  my 
gun  in  an  instant.  I  saw  Oldham  leap  forward,  roaring 
out  an  order  —  then  they  came,  pouring  out  of  the 
woods  into  the  open,  a  mass  of  shrieking  demons,  half 
obscured  in  smoke,  their  rifles  spitting  fire.  The  man 
beside  me  went  down  in  a  heap;  Oldham  flung  up  his 
arms  and  toppled  over ;  I  saw  men  stare,  then  turn  and 

[412] 


The  Battle  on  the  Wabash 


run,  peering  back  over  their  shoulders  with  eyes  full  of 
horror.  I  threw  up  ray  rifle  and  fired;  sprang  back, 
racing  for  a  tree,  loading  as  I  ran.  Men  were  every- 
where, a  frightened,  screaming  mob.  I  saw  officers  strike 
them  with  their  swords,  cursing  them  as  cowards.  But 
nothing  could  stop  the  panic ;  they  fought  to  get  away, 
they  struck  with  clinched  fists,  they  battered  a  path  for 
themselves  with  clubbed  muskets;  they  became  fiends 
from  terror,  every  semblance  of  men  lost.  God !  may  I 
never  see  such  a  sight  again !  My  hand  trembles  as  I 
write  of  it. 

Into  that  terror-stricken,  fleeing  mob  the  naked  war- 
riors came,  hacking  with  tomahawks,  slashing  with 
knives,  battering  with  clubbed  guns.  The  snow  was  red 
with  blood,  covered  with  dead  bodies.  It  was  massacre. 
I  know  not  how  I  got  out  of  it,  but  I  fought  back  from 
tree  to  tree,  firing  as  I  halted,  loading  as  I  ran.  There 
were  others  with  me,  cool-headed  fellows,  and  we  held 
the  painted  demons  back  until  a  hundred  of  us,  or  more, 
gained  the  opening  by  the  river,  where  the  regulars  and 
artillery  were.  But  the  savage  hordes,  infuriated  by 
victory,  drunk  with  slaughter,  were  at  our  very  heels. 
They  lined  the  edge  of  the  woods  and  poured  in  deadly 
volleys.  There  was  no  sound  now,  no  yelling  —  only 
the  incessant  rattle  of  firearms,  as  they  crept  from  log 
to  log,  and  tree  to  tree,  slowly  drawing  closer.  They 

[413] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


filed  off  to  either  side,  and  hemmed  us  in,  the  river  alone 
protecting  our  rear.  Through  the  clouds  of  smoke  we 
caught  glimpses  of  their  flitting  figures,  distorted,  hor- 
rible, of  faces  striped  black  and  red,  of  waving  feathers, 
and  brandished  arms.  Never  before,  or  since,  have  I 
seen  Indians  fight  as  they  did  that  day  —  rushing  to 
the  charge,  leaping  straight  at  us  through  the  smoke, 
and  firing  with  deadly  aim  into  our  very  faces.  They 
shot  us  down  as  hunters  slaughter  a  herd  of  buffalo. 
There  was  no  rest,  no  cessation,  no  time  in  which  to 
breathe.  Hidden  beneath  the  smoke  cloud,  they  leaped 
upon  us  with  the  tomahawk.  Only  now  and  then  did  we 
get  glimpse  of  them,  we  scarcely  knew  what  we  were 
firing  at ;  we  stood  and  shot,  closing  up  the  ranks  as  men 
fell,  growing  constantly  less,  pressed  steadily  back. 
Suddenly,  in  an  instant,  without  warning,  dark  faces 
leaped  into  view  through  the  haze,  war-axes  gleamed  and 
struck,  and  men  toppled  over  into  the  snow. 

Twice  they  took  the  guns,  swarming  forward  with  a 
fierce  rush  that  flung  us  back,  and  crushed  the  gunners 
under  foot.  But  they  were  in  the  open  now,  and  we 
could  see;  with  bayonets  and  clubbed  rifles  we  charged 
home,  driving  them  back  to  the  woods.  There  they  held 
us,  while  from  every  hollow  and  grass  patch,  every  tree 
and  fallen  log,  their  rifles  spat  fire.  The  bands  of  my 
gun  flew  off,  and  I  picked  up  another ;  I  was  out  of  pow- 

[414  ] 


The  Battle  an  the  Wabash 


der  and  ball  and  took  them  from  a  dead  body.  The  dead 
lay  everywhere,  alone,  in  heaps ;  cries  of  the  wounded 
rose  above  the  din.  We  charged  over  the  bodies, 
crunching  them  under  foot,  seeking  to  reach  our  invis- 
ible foes.  They  would  not  stand,  would  not  meet  us. 
Helpless,  bleeding,  dying,  confused  by  many  orders,  we 
fell  back,  yet  still  retained  line,  and  fronted  that  blaz- 
ing wood.  Frightened,  panic-stricken  men  were  every- 
where, running  and  shrieking  in  terror,  seeking  vainly 
for  some  means  of  escape  from  the  savage  cordon. 
Indians  crept  forward  under  the  smoke  to  scalp  and 
mutilate  the  dead  and  dying.  Horses  from  the  artil- 
lery and  staff,  breaking  loose,  charged  wildly  about, 
trampling  living  and  dead  alike  under  their  feet.  Wom- 
en, camp-followers,  were  wedged  in  the  mob,  their  shrill 
screams  piercing  the  mad  uproar.  Only  the  regulars 
stood  intact,  a  thin  blue  line,  with  here  and  there  among 
them  a  few  militiamen  who  kept  their  heads.  About  the 
guns,  not  a  dozen  powder-grimed  artillerymen  remained. 
Not  an  officer  of  the  battery  was  left;  not  one  of  the 
regulars  unwounded. 

I  heard  St.  Clair  storming  up  and  down  behind  us, 
swearing  and  shouting  orders  in  his  high,  cracked  voice, 
yet  took  no  time  to  glance  toward  him.  The  smoke 
settled  down  upon  us  in  a  cloud ;  we  fought  blindly,  in 
the  dark,  hardly  certain  but  we  stood  alone.  I  was 

[415] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


beside  Butler  when  he  was  struck,  and  helped  drag  him 
aside  out  of  the  rout.  Then  I  saw  St.  Clair,  and,  as  I 
stopped  a  second,  staring  into  his  face  to  be  sure  of  his 
identity,  an  officer  rushed  up  through  the  smoke  cloud, 
knocking  me  aside,  everything  forgotten  but  his  urgent 
message. 

"  General  St.  Clair,"  he  cried,  "  we  must  get  out  of 
here,  sir.  My  men  cannot  stand  five  minutes  longer. 
If  that  line  breaks  it  will  cost  every  life.  For  God's 
sake,  let  us  go." 

"  Yes  —  yes,  Colonel  Darke,  but  how  is  it  to  be  accom- 
plished, sir?  See  those  fool  cowards." 

Darke  swept  his  hand  out  to  the  south  in  sudden 
gesture. 

"  There  is  only  one  way,  sir  —  there  by  the  road.  I 
can  hold  the  regulars  steady ;  they  '11  cover  the  rear, 
and  give  the  others  a  chance.  One  fierce  charge  for- 
ward with  the  bayonet  will  drive  those  devils  back,  and 
open  the  way.  May  I  try  it,  sir?  " 

"  Ay,  try  it.  Hold !  I  '11  lead  them  myself.  Here 
Simmons,  Cauley,  lash  those  skulkers  into  the  road 
there,  while  we  clear  a  path." 

I  sprang  forward  with  the  others  in  response  to  swift 
orders.  We  made  the  woods  and  plunged  into  their 
shadows.  There  was  a  fierce,  mad  struggle  face  to  face, 
bayonets  and  clubbed  muskets,  knives  and  tomahawks. 

[416] 


The  Battle  on  the  Wabash 


St.  Clair,  on  an  artillery  horse,  led  the  way.  We  swept 
the  front  of  the  broad  road  clear,  the  impetuosity  of  our 
reckless  charge  forcing  the  startled  savages  into  full 
retreat.  Then  we  dropped  to  our  knees,  loading  and 
firing  to  hold  the  advantage.  Behind  us,  into  the  open 
road,  surged  the  mob  of  panic-stricken  men,  fighting  and 
crowding,  beginning  their  long  race  back  to  the  Ohio. 
It  was  a  sickening  sight,  the  white,  ghastly  faces,  the 
wounded  limping  along,  the  brutal  acts  of  fear,  and 
over  all  the  ceaseless  cries  and  profanity.  I  caught 
glimpses  of  women  among  the  seething  mass,  hustled 
and  thrown  under  foot  in  the  mad  terror.  The  sight  of 
them  brought  back  to  me  the  remembrance  of  Rene. 
Was  she  also  crushed  in  that  mob,  fleeing  for  life?  or 
was  she  still  in  the  cook  tent,  trembling  as  she  stared  out 
helplessly  on  the  stricken  field?  I  turned  and  ran, 
heedless  of  all  else,  plunging  through  the  stream  of 
fugitives,  plowing  a  passage  with  my  bulk.  I  had  done 
my  duty  —  now  I  must  save  her ! 


[417] 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  RETREAT 

T  HAD  no  faith  I  should  find  her  there,  but  I  fought 
my  way  through  to  the  tent.  It  had  been  knocked 
half  over,  the  camp  stove  overturned,  the  long  bench 
smashed  into  kindling  wood.  With  sinking  heart  I 
flung  back  the  sagging  canvas,  and  cast  one  glance 
within.  As  heaven  witnesses,  she  stood  there,  the  blan- 
ket still  wrapped  about  her,  her  hands  grasping  a  rifle, 
her  face  turned  toward  me.  Unconsciously  her  lips 
gave  utterance  to  a  cry  of  relief,  and  her  expression 
changed.  I  sprang  forward,  eager,  glad. 

"  Rene,  you  are  here !  "  I  cried  out.  "  Why  did  you 
not  go  with  the  others  ?  Why  did  you  stay  ?  " 

"  It  was  the  word  of  Monsieur,"  she  answered  simply. 
"  Monsieur  said  stay  till  he  come." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know ;  but  I  never  thought  of  this ;  never 
dreamed  of  such  a  defeat.  But  there  is  no  time  to  waste 
in  talk.  There  is  nothing  to  do  but  run  for  it  now. 
Come,  lass ! " 

Before  she  realized  what  I  was  going  to  do,  I  had 
flung  away  my  rifle  and  seized  her  in  my  arms.  She 
was  a  light,  slender  thing,  and  I  held  her  tight  in  the 

[419] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


folds  of  the  blanket,  scarcely  feeling  her  weight.  She 
made  no  effort  to  resist,  yet  her  eyes  —  bewildered,  half- 
frightened —  looked  into  my  face.  I  gave  them  no 
heed,  my  whole  purpose  concentrated  on  the  one  effort 
to  save  her,  to  fight  a  passage  through  that  mob  of 
frightened  men.  The  spirit  of  panic  had  gripped  me 
also  —  not  for  myself,  but  for  her !  Here  was  my  duty 
now;  not  back  yonder  where  those  regulars  yet  stood 
grimly  in  line,  and  died  with  their  shoulders  touching; 
not  where  I  had  fought  all  day  in  the  powder-cloud  fac- 
ing those  forest  demons  —  but  in  the  mob  of  fugitives, 
battling  and  cursing  for  their  lives. 

I  ran  out,  clasping  her  to  me,  and  sprang  into  it, 
battling  my  way  through  to  the  edge  of  the  human 
stream,  where  there  was  more  room.  I  cared  not  who  I 
hit,  or  who  I  trampled  under  foot.  I  retained  but  one 
object,  one  purpose  —  to  bear  Mademoiselle  safely  out 
of  danger.  Once  I  tripped  and  fell,  but  arose  instantly, 
shaking  off  those  who  stumbled  over  me.  I  put  her 
down  now,  gripping  her  with  my  left  hand  and  leaving 
my  right  free.  I  fought  like  a  wild  man,  cool-headed 
enough,  yet  realizing  I  could  only  win  by  reckless  feroc- 
ity. I  was  dealing  with  crazed  men,  and  there  was  no 
virtue  in  mercy.  Foot  by  foot,  yard  by  yard,  we  pressed 
past;  I  cleared  the  way  with  heavy  hand,  with  butting 
shoulder.  They  gripped  me,  and  I  shook  them  off; 

[420] 


they  grasped  at  her,  and  I  struck;  they  surged  in, 
blocking  our  passage,  and  I  hurled  them  aside.  At 
last  we  were  out  of  the  crush,  ahead  where  the  way  was 
more  open,  the  fugitives  fewer.  Again  I  seized  her  in 
my  arms,  and  ran.  Here  and  there  rifle  smoke  belched 
from  out  the  bushes.  I  saw  men  fall  in  their  stride,  and 
lie  motionless  in  the  road.  I  leaped  across  dead  bodies, 
hearing  the  cries  of  terror  behind  and  the  ceaseless  din 
of  firing.  They  were  at  it  yet,  those  regulars;  these 
who  shot  at  us  as  we  raced  by  were  scattered  riflemen 
hid  in  the  thicket.  It  was  a  broad  road,  the  snow 
trampled  flat  by  feet  fleeing  from  death.  Some  instinct 
kept  me  to  the  right,  next  to  the  river,  for  the  shots  came 
from  the  other  side.  Others  ran  between  us  and  those 
dark  woods,  and  many  a  one  stopped  a  speeding  bullet. 
I  heard  their  cries,  their  oaths,  caught  glimpses  over  my 
shoulder  of  racing  figures,  of  frightened  faces  and 
streaming  hair.  The  road  was  littered  with  guns 
thrown  away,  with  discarded  blankets  and  powder  horns. 
I  dared  not  look  back,  straining  every  muscle,  staggering 
forward  over  the  ruts.  The  roar  of  guns  behind  grew 
faint  in  the  distance ;  the  spit  of  rifles  from  the  thickets 
ceased.  Exhausted,  breathless,  reeling  from  fatigue,  I 
put  her  down,  and,  with  arm  about  her,  stood  an  instant 
looking  back. 

They  were  coming,  a  dark  mass  bearing  down  upon 
[421] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


us,  but  ahead  of  them,  wild  with  terror,  his  harness  flap- 
ping at  his  heels,  his  head  flung  from  side  to  side, 
charged  an  artillery  horse  full  tilt.  In  his  mad  terror 
he  saw  and  knew  nothing;  he  came  straight  at  us,  run- 
ning as  if  crazed.  I  flung  the  girl  into  the  side  of  the 
road  and  leaped  recklessly  for  his  head.  My  hand 
gripped  the  mane,  then  the  leather  rein;  I  was  flung 
from  my  feet,  jerked  into  the  air,  but  hung;  my  moc- 
casins touched  ground  again.  I  was  dragged  forward, 
rendered  half  unconscious  by  a  blow,  but  weight  told.  I 
got  fingers  on  his  nostrils,  and  he  stood  still,  panting 
and  trembling.  Clinging  to  him,  warned  by  shouts  to 
hurry,  I  stripped  the  harness  and  hoisted  her  onto  the 
bare  back.  Even  as  this  was  accomplished  the  head  of 
that  shrieking  mob  was  on  us  ;  one  brute  grabbed  her  by 
the  arm  seeking  to  pull  her  down,  and  I  struck  him  with 
all  the  force  I  had.  Then  I  ran  forward,  clasping  the 
horse  by  the  bit,  crunching  our  way,  heedless  of  who 
opposed  or  blocked  our  passage.  And  they  made  way 
for  us ;  even  in  their  blind  terror,  they  swept  aside  to 
escape  being  trampled  under  the  animal's  hoofs,  and 
left  before  us  a  clear  path. 

As  I  ran  I  thought,  striving  to  clear  my  mind,  to 
drive  away  the  fog  of  panic,  and  overcome  the  fears 
which  thus  far  had  compelled  action.  What  should  we 
do  now?  What  was  best  to  do?  I  could  still  hear 


The  Retreat 


distant  firing,  but  no  longer  in  volleys,  and  far  off 
Indian  whoops  borne  on  the  wind.  How  had  the  fight 
ended?  were  the  regulars  still  holding  the  rear?  still 
protecting  the  escape  of  the  rabble?  or  had  the  savages 
rallied,  and  overwhelmed  them?  I  had  no  means  of 
knowing;  all  about  us  were  fugitives,  running  blindly, 
many  of  them  crying  like  children.  I  looked  up  at 
Rene.  She  was  clinging  to  the  horse's  mane  with  one 
hand  to  keep  her  seat  on  the  broad  back,  the  other  clasp- 
ing the  blanket,  which  streamed  out  behind.  Her  black 
hair,  jarred  loose  from  its  fastening,  hid  her  face,  and 
hung  below  her  waist.  This  would  be  the  road  they 
would  all  take,  this  broad  path  to  the  Ohio;  it  would 
be  crowded  with  unarmed,  desperate,  terrorized  fugi- 
tives. There  would  be  no  discipline,  no  semblance  of 
order,  no  organized  defense  against  attack.  And  the 
Indians  would  follow ;  they  would  elude  that  weak  rear- 
guard, race  through  those  woods,  and  fall  on  these  help- 
less fugitives.  Doubtless  even  already  they  were  in 
pursuit.  There  would  be  greater  safety  traveling  alone, 
the  other  way,  following  the  course  of  the  river  straight 
through  the  forest. 

I  looked  eagerly  for  some  place  in  which  to  turn  aside, 
saw  the  faint  trace  of  an  Indian  trail,  seemingly  leading 
down  the  bank  of  the  stream,  and,  with  instant  decision, 
turned  into  it.  I  walked  the  horse  now,  and  Rene"  sat 

[423] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


up  straight,  and  fastened  her  disarranged  hair.  The 
narrow  trail  led  through  dense  thickets  and  about  a 
slight  hill;  in  five  minutes  we  were  out  of  sight  of  the 
road,  alone  in  the  wilderness.  To  the  right  through 
trees  was  the  glimmer  of  the  river.  The  horse  panted 
heavily,  and  the  way  was  rough.  There  was  blood  I 
noticed  now,  on  his  flank,  and  he  limped  slightly  as  he 
walked.  I  staggered  and  reeled  from  weariness,  feeling 
reaction  from  excitement,  yet  kept  grimly  on  until  we 
must  have  covered  two  miles,  wandering  in  and  out 
among  the  low  hills.  No  sounds  reached  us,  and  as  we 
came  into  a  narrow  ravine,  promising  concealment,  I 
released  my  grasp  on  the  bit,  and  staggered  back  against 
the  bank.  Mademoiselle  slipped  from  her  seat  and 
hastened  to  me. 

"  You  are  worn  out,  Monsieur?  wounded?  " 

"  Worn  out,  yes,  but  nothing  has  touched  me  save  a 
blow  or  two.  I  —  I  think  we  can  rest  now." 

Then  it  occurred  to  me,  a  thought  that  had  swept  into 
my  mind  once  before  —  we  had  no  provisions,  no  chance 
to  get  away  and  we  dare  not  shoot,  nor  build  a  fire. 

"  What  is  it,  Monsieur?  " 

"  Why,  we  have  nothing  to  eat,  Rene,"  I  admitted 
reluctantly.  "It  is  a  long  journey  to  the  Ohio,  and 
how  are  we  going  to  keep  from  starving?  Faith !  but  I 
am  near  that  now." 

[424] 


The  Retreat 


She  stood  before  me,  slender,  erect,  the  blanket  draped 
about  her,  her  eyes  lowered. 

"  It  was  mine  to  remember,  Monsieur,"  she  said  sim- 
ply, as  if  it  was  all  the  most  ordinary  thing  in  the  world. 
"  I  knew  not  what  would  happen,  and  there  was  food 
there.  When  the  women  ran  away,  and  I  would  not 
go,  because  you  told  me  not,  I  knew  it  would  be  best  that 
I  take  some.  You  do  not  blame,  Monsieur?  " 

"Blame!  you  are  a  jewel;  but  I  see  nothing  of  it! 
Where  —  " 

"  'T  is  here,  Monsieur ;  I  am  glad  if  I  please  you." 

She  flung  aside  the  blanket,  dropping  it  to  the  ground, 
revealing  a  black  ammunition  bag  strapped  across  her 
shoulder.  I  remembered  now  feeling  it  when  I  held  her 
in  my  arms,  vaguely  wondering  what  it  was.  She 
unclasped  and  opened  it. 

"  Monsieur  must  eat,"  she  said  gravely,  "  and  sleep. 
Then  he  will  be  strong  again." 

I  tried  to  do  as  she  said,  munching  a  few  mouthfuls. 
Her  actions,  her  words,  her  manner  toward  me,  both 
bewildered  and  angered.  She  had  assumed  the  part  of 
a  servant  —  chosen  it,  as  if  she  would  thus  teach  me  my 
own  place.  In  every  possible  way  she  showed  me  she 
was  not  there  from  choice,  but  necessity.  I  lay  back, 
toying  with  the  food,  my  appetite  gone.  The  wounded 
horse  had  been  down  to  the  river  and  drank ;  now  he  was 

[425] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


pawing  the  snow  in  an  effort  to  discover  feed.  Over  in 
the  east,  but  some  distance  off,  a  rifle  cracked  ominously 
in  the  silence.  My  head  fell  back  against  the  bank,  and 
I  was  sound  asleep. 

It  was  two  days  later  when  we  toiled  up  a  long  hill, 
and  came  out  upon  the  summit.  I  no  longer  needed  to 
lead  the  horse,  and  was  plodding  along  wearily  behind. 
Much  of  the  snow  had  melted,  leaving  the  soil  soft,  and 
the  trees  appeared  bare,  phantom-like,  against  the  sky. 
Rene  rode  silently,  wrapped  in  her  blanket,  for  the  air 
was  chill  and  damp,  her  head  bent,  her  eyes  straight 
ahead.  I  have  no  remembrance  that  we  had  spoken  for 
an  hour.  Beyond  the  hill  summit  there  was  an  escarp- 
ment of  rock,  giving  an  open  view  ahead.  As  I  gazed 
off,  over  the  trees  below,  my  heart  gave  a  great  bound  — 
there,  scarce  a  mile  away,  flowing  between  leagues  of  for- 
est, was  the  broad  Ohio,  its  waters  silvery  in  the  sun.  I 
turned  to  her  and  pointed. 

"  At  last,  Rene,"  I  cried,  forgetting.     "  We  are  safe 
now ;  see !    There  is  the  river." 

She  lifted  her  eyes  and  looked. 

"  Yes,  Monsieur." 

"  Why  do  you  ever  speak  to  me  in  that  tone  ?    You 
answer  me  always  as  if  you  were  my  servant." 

"  Your  servant !  "  she  was  looking  at  me  now.    "  Am 
I  not,  Monsieur?  " 

[426] 


The  Retreat 


"  Of  course  you  are  not.  You  are  free ;  whatever  put 
that  in  your  head?  I  haven't  known  what  to  think, 
what  to  do  since  we  have  been  together.  Back  on  the 
Maumee  I  —  I  thought  you  loved  me." 

"  I  do  love  you,  Monsieur." 

"  You  —  you  love  me,"  I  stammered.  "  And  yet  bear 
yourself  as  you  do?  " 

"Yes,  Monsieur;  how  else  could  I  do?  You  are 
white ;  I  am  an  Indian." 

"Is  that  all!  You  think  that  makes  it  different? 
Rene,  I  love  you ;  out  yonder  is  my  home ;  I  would  take 
you  there ;  I  would  say  to  those  who  know  me  —  here 
is  my  wife." 

"  Your  —  your  wife !  "  There  was  doubt,  question- 
ing in  her  eyes. 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  how  could  you  think  otherwise." 

"  Oh,  Monsieur,  how  could  I  know  ?  how  could  I 
believe?  I  was  an  Indian  girl,  a  Wyandot.  It  is  not 
so  the  white  men  come  to  our  villages.  I  have  seen 
them  —  the  red-coats,  the  traders  of  France.  They 
take  with  the  strong  hand,  and  then  laugh,  and  go 
away.  Monsieur,  you  did  not  tell  me.  You  swung  Girty 
about  your  head  in  rage  and  flung  him  irom  you  into 
the  river ;  you  killed  the  big  Shawnee  chief  with  a  blow. 
You  —  you  were  terrible,  Monsieur ;  even  I  was  afraid. 
Then  you  came  and  grasped  me,  and  said  get  into  the 
[427] 


The  Maid  of  the  Forest 


canoe.  I  tried  to  not  go,  but  you  said  yes,  I  must.  You 
did  not  ask  me,  Monsieur  —  you  spoke  stern,  angry.  I 
was  frightened,  I  dare  not  say  no,  so  I  did  as  you  said 
—  I  was  your  prisoner ;  you  had  taken  me  as  the  war- 
riors of  the  Wyandots  take  the  maidens  of  the  Ojibwas." 

"  Then  if  that  was  so,  why  did  you  not  leave  me  — 
that  night  the  Indians  passed  us  in  camp?  " 

Her  cheeks  flamed. 

"I  —  I  could  not,  Monsieur  —  I  loved  you." 

"  And  now  ?  —  now  you  will  go  with  me  down  there  — 
a  prisoner  no  longer,  but  my  own  ?  " 

"  Always  and  forever  ?  " 

"  Always  and  forever,"  I  answered  gravely. 

There  was  something  new,  wonderful  in  the  depths  of 
the  dark  eyes  that  looked  into  mine.  I  saw  her  hands 
clasp  the  white  cross  at  her  throat,  then  they  were  held 
out  to  me. 

"  I  am  so  glad,  Monsieur,"  she  said  softly,  "  so 
glad!" 


THE    END 


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